I've failed at keeping a hand written journal.

But I visit My computer screen daily, so I fill this box with the thoughts in my head.


sometimes I write, but they are private letters to Monique, and when I'm writing them, I'm hoping she is sitting next to me, reading them, I wish she could write me back, I hate un-answered questions.

I think I write so I don't feel so alone with my thoughts, I know I can always talk to someone, but it's usually when my day is ending and I'm siting alone in the room we once shared, that my mind starts to race.I had a lovely dinner with some of the best people I know, but I always feel slightly disconnected, not just from them, but from the world.


My heart still stops for a second every time I remind myself she is gone.

we still keep the door closed of the room she slept in, while she was depressed. We just pretend it is a closet, the room holds the clothes that still have her sent.

our room, is not as painful, its full of all the good memories, and empty beer cans she left behind.

I'm sorry, Pinky promise.