I have conversations in my head with you. It's always been better than the real thing.

I find myself thinking about it obsessively. Pick up a knife and wonder at how sharp it is. Stare at my skin as if I'll see the arteries beneath.

Walk across bridges and try to calculate the injuries from the fall. If I'll make it. When I was younger there weren't as many guard rails.

Stare at pill bottles. Would I pass out before I finished swallowing them all? Would I throw up from all the water or alcohol?

You don't ask me how I am anymore.

I try to stop wishing you would.