8August 1983
I got her second letter two weeks before I had to leave for college. She'd been gone for a month now, and I'd gotten used to it the same way I'd gotten used to her absence near the end of senior year. When I thought about it that way, I almost wished she had just left me alone. I almost wished we'd never gone to the art museum. I almost wished we'd never gotten close again. I almost wished we hadn't spent that day swimming, hadn't gotten drunk, hadn't fallen asleep holding onto each other. I almost wished she'd just stayed gone, instead of coming back into my life only to leave it again. It was like she'd let me heal only to rip the wound open again.
But I had gotten used to the bleeding. It hadn't stopped, but I had it under control. She was gone, and it hurt me even to thi
