one year later and it still sucks.

dear g.money:

it’s been a year since you’ve been gone.

to the day.

a year since i screened that phone call while i sat inside that pub on 14th street. having a beer that was so insignificant i’m sure my liver did away with it in under an hour. having conversations so insignificant that i don’t even remember what they were about. laughing about things that were probably not even that funny.

i screened the call because i thought it was an ordinary “just checking in” call and i figured i’d return it later. when i wasn’t in a pub. drinking insignificant beer and having insignificant conversation.

i was wrong.

i have never been so wrong.

i was only blocks away from london terrace. had i known then what i would know only an hour later, i would have run to you. i would have run myself out of my heels and poured myself over you. desperate for one more minute of you. your kindness. your wisdom. your ever impressive wit and unfailing tell-it-like-it-is. your hand inside mine.

i would if i could. but in some ways, screening that call saved me.

saved me from seeing things i know now i would never want to see.

because my last minutes with you were perfect.

and i miss you every single day.