I dialed your number again tonight. I know it's disconnected but I keep hoping.
The bed is all mine now but I only use the left side. Your side stays untouched.
That heat advisory afternoon you'd have said to turn on the swamp cooler. I ended up staring at that paint swatch fan you left on the counter.
You had circled one color. I think you wanted to paint the kitchen. I never did.
I'm still working the line at the diner. Same grease, same 2am closing. But the walk home is longer now.
Last night I slept on your side for the first time. It smelled like your pillow still. Maybe it's just me.
This is probably a voicemail to nowhere. But if you can hear this, I want you to know I'm okay.
I'm not hanging up, I'm just stopping talking. You know how I get.