So this is what it is.
To feel sadness for someone else and not for yourself. To be that selfless, yet so selfish at the same time. To walk around with the knowledge you have hurt someone and still expect to feel so much better in the end.
Time will pass; this may never.
I guess it's true: loneliness is a chronic disease with recessions few and far between. It will kill us all eventually. I guess he was my chemo, but I was dying inside anyway. (Ok, so I made that last part up because it sounded dramatic.)
My eyes are blurry and I don't want to write anymore. I'm not sad; just guilty. I'm always guilty.