From time to time, I throw something out into the void because I can't talk to you.
I mean, I could, I guess. But it's been eleven years and I think it would be too weird. Like I'm a creep who can't move on.
I've moved on. I don't usually think about you unless you're in my dream from the night before. Last summer I had one where you told me goodbye, and the dreams stopped for a while. But they came back a few months ago, and I'm glad. Because the bottom line is, I miss talking to you, if only in a dream.
I still have our conversations. Not all of them, but the last few, because they got saved in the cloud. I haven't gone back and looked at them in eleven years. Until today.
I posted a l

