I go looking for evidence of our partnership that’s not tied to a memory of me sleeping on two chairs pushed together next to his hospital bedside. My Gmail is a priceless hoard of us making plans, telling inside jokes, calling each other “snoodle” and “bubbies.” I type his name into the search field and enter a world of the unscripted dialogue that filled our 9-to-5 existence. I become immersed in the coziness of our union. In hundreds of chats automatically saved to my account, we express our love for each other readily and naturally in our own private speech. This is a history of our relationship that we didn’t intend to write, one that runs parallel to the one authored by his uncontainable illness.
If you read one thing today, read this.
what she said… except maybe you shouldn’t if you cry easily like me…
-
ilenecranky reblogged this from natashalevinger and added:
Wow. This is also my worst nightmare, and I’m laying in bed next to my sleeping boyfriend bawling after reading that. I...
-
imremembering liked this
-
suitep liked this
-
tracingtheedgesofconsciousness liked this
-
juliadantchev liked this
-
drydenlane liked this
-
alexandra-ewing liked this
-
dastryoshka liked this
-
raddicalviews liked this
-
mindbodyhealth liked this
-
neutralangel liked this
-
heylabodega liked this
-
britpixie reblogged this from ceilingtofloor and added:
Shit. It’s strange reading other people’s stories on the internet. Sometimes it feels like it’s not real (though, sad...
-
garvs liked this
-
redcloud liked this
-
korellan liked this
-
seltzerlizard liked this
-
eloraliveshere liked this
-
stargrrrrl liked this
-
symn liked this
-
whilewestillcan liked this
-
hopemanifesto reblogged this from spareunderthemat and added:
Ultimate sadface.
-
zaedilux liked this
-
kellybergin said:
best to pair this story with a bottle of red wine and some kleenex.
-
glamohrama liked this
-
baronjamie liked this
-
baseln liked this
