One Sad Day

It's that worst day again, Ingrid. Three years since you died. I've been avoiding writing this all day.

Even this long out, it's hard to accept that you're gone. I still think, "Oh, I'll just ask Ingrid." And then snap back to reality and remember that I can't do that.

I think acceptance is a very slow process, Ingrid, that happens to a lot of small corners and nooks in the mind. And since you occupy a lot of those spaces I'm not exactly aching for acceptance, I guess.

I still just miss you.