Remember that day before you left? I spent all day with you packing your things, and laughing about old memories that we shared together. We talked about Christmas, and that ridiculous picture with Santa that I swear I look horrible in. Yet you still told me that I looked beautiful, and for a second, everything was alright. We talked all night about our plans for the future, and how exciting our lives would be, and then the sun came up, like some sort of time machine, we were back in the present. Back to reality. That was the day you died. Again. You said you were busy, and I understood. So I called the next day, and you were busy again, but that’s alright. Right? But one day turned to two, and two turned to a month, and here I am, still waiting on that call from the guy you used to be.