9.26.25

Dear J - my back hurts a little less today. I’ve been thinking a lot about getting older. Last night I said every thought out loud to see what it sounded like. It sounded like “I’m afraid.” I worry about the little things. Like the lines on my face, like the extra pudge around my waist that just won’t go away these days. I worry I slouch too much, eat too much, love too many of the wrong people and not enough of the right ones. I worry about what other people think of me, more often than I admit out loud. Often I worry about work, about money, about survival. But more than anything, I worry I’ll never love the right person, that the right person will never love me back. I worry that the pain I’ve been feeling will never go away. I worry nobody will ever forgive me for the things I’ve done to hurt them. I worry I’ll never forgive myself. Somedays I wait still for a phone call from the person I said I’d stop loving, but can’t seem to. I worry about being alone, and about not being alone enough. I can’t seem to decide if I want god and solitude or people and chaos. I wonder how all of this must seem to you now. I know you’re listening. You told me you would be, from wherever you’ve gone. You’re gone and nothing has changed on Earth these last few hours, except everything. Thank you, for loving me. I won’t forget it.