But how can you not miss me? How can you not think about me at all? How can you stay strong about not reaching out to contact me?
I think about you every day. Still. 2.5 months after my departure. I stalk your Facebook pages and Linkedin profiles (not signed in, of course) and wonder what's changed. If anything has changed. If there are still lingering questions. If there are still thoughts of my time with you all.
I've cut my hair and gotten glasses and tanned my body through long days on the beach. And still it lingers, this saggy cast of who I was. Under my skin but on top of my bones so that it's there enough to never collapse but not obvious enough to be apparent to others. I can never remove the reality of that year in France. I hate the thought that it will never go away completely, just dull.
You're the only people who can truly help me grieve, who went through the experience with me. But of course you're the only people on the planet I can't process with.
I rub my eyes and dream of carving tally marks on my skin. I want to run till I puke. I want to puke till my throats raw. I want to eat carrot sticks until hunger drives me insane.
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