I miss penciling in a lunch date, then considering whether or not to cancel it.
I want to run my hands along a line of books in the library, searching for just the right one.
Sitting outside to read will be nice, if it ever warms up. Even the sunshine doesn't cheer me right now.
I'll go for a walk, alone. Or masked, with a masked neighbor maybe, muffled desperate conversation.
I really miss booking a flight to Boston before asking if the dates are okay with my daughter. They always are.
But not right now they aren't. And I am seriously constantly just on the edge of tears. Like right now.
Sure, I've thought about smoking, because I remember the comfort I used to feel, alone, sitting outside,
smoking one after another, like I was actually doing something.
I won't, of course. That would be so much worse than this.