But what I'm discovering is that the nights wear on a body when they're all spent alone, and days busking on the corner or doing odd jobs become strangely lonesome when you're used to sharing them with someone else. Especially when that someone else was your Someone Else.
I don't think he'd mind me coming here just to talk, since I can't talk to him anymore. He'd probably laugh at the idea of me feeling guilty and tell me he just wanted me to be happy.
If only I knew what.