Every second. Every single second is so hard. I try to pretend. I hope all the times I put on a happy face, or at least an okay face, it is believable. I remember the scene in Under the Tuscan Sun, when Frances is talking about her divorce she says something along the lines of something like that should instantly kill you. "It doesn't actually kill you. Like a bullet to the heart or a head-on car wreck." It should.
"Grief goes with you every day (Lea Michelle)." And that is what I am doing. I am grieving. Grieving the love lost. The love that I do not know where to put. The life that I will never have with him. The dream of the life with him. I am grieving him, my dear sweet Guy On a Buffalo.
And what I suffer is not as important as how I suffer through it.