It's been 214 days since the world ended and I miss you.
I thought of a happy memory. It's the night when you first stayed over at my place. We fell asleep on my bed, your arm over my chest. But the next morning, when I woke up, I realized that I had forgotten to shut the window and all the cold air had rushed in. We were freezing and struggling to cover both of ourselves with the one blanket I had. You put your fingers -- cold, but getting warmer -- over my face and laughed and then tugged the blanket away from me. "I guess you're going to have to get a bigger blanket," you said. "I guess so," I said.
(I can never leave the windows in my apartment open at night now. Too many things might be able to slip inside.)
I saw Peter today. I hadn't seen him for a month or so and I asked him what he was doing. "Got a new job," he said and when I asked what it was, he just replied, "Surviving."
It's been 214 days since the world ended and I miss you.
