I dreamed about him last night. He looked like himself. He painted the street so it looked like sun reflecting off of water. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. We got in a big fight and he looked at me with a face that was so very angry.
I cried about it today, just a little. I've only cried about it a little. It was my choice, after all.
I feel as if I'm not entitled to feel anything. I feel this thing inside me, a big thick ball of mucus with a heavy stone at the center, and if only I could reach my hands down my throat and vomit up everything that's inside maybe I would stop feeling as if the world is ending.
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