The three weeks I waited for him were hell with an oasis. At first, it was weird. Used to be with him all day, I suddenly felt empty, incomplete. It was as if half of me was missing. I didn't like feeling a hole in my chest that wasn't even filled with chocolate. It was sad. Not everything was gloating in sadness. I did more things, but that's almost secondary when my head was wherever G was.
The first day I woke up in the bedroom that was once mine. I looked at the walls, which seemed a little barer than they should as if they needed paintings to hang. I stayed in bed, doing time. My mind wanted to imagine that G was at my fingertips, sleeping next to me, shirtless and in his navy blue boxers. He could even tell where he had each tattoo by heart. I had learned it very well in the little
