Day 1:  It’s been four hours, twenty seven minutes, and thirty three seconds since I saw you last. 

Make that thirty seven seconds.

Day 2:  Everything seems so different now.
Day 3: I keep thinking that I hear you in the apartment, early in the mornings when dawn is just breaking and it seems like the rest of the city is asleep. 
      I keep thinking that I hear the coffee maker starting up, or         the television turning on, or tired footsteps shuffling down           the hallway.
But when I check, there is no one there.
Day 5: Your office looks so strange when it’s empty.
Day 11:  I’ve called your phone dozens of times, but you never answer. 
Day 20: I went out to the grocery store today.  As I was getting in line to pay, I saw your little brother at the opposite side of the room.
   I would have started a conversation with him,
   but I wouldn’t know what to say anymore.
Day 35: Your favourite song came on the radio in the car today.  I changed the station as soon as I heard the first chord.
Day 49: I still wear your sweatshirts to bed.
Day 67: Today was a good day.  I wish you had been there to see it.
Day 72:  I went back to that cafe that we used to go to every morning. 
  The cashier recognized me, and she asked where you where.
  I told her that you were out of town.
Day 90:  I still have that picture of you in my pocket, the one that I took on top of the ferris wheel. 
    You were so happy that day.
Day 98:  You used to say that I was the best person in the world.
   But I disagreed.
   You see, I thought that you were the best person.
   Maybe that’s just how it works.
      Maybe everyone has someone that thinks they are the best person in the
universe.  Maybe that is how it’s supposed to be.
Day 109:  Your pillow doesn’t smell like you anymore.
Day 120:  Your favourite song came on the car radio again.  This time, I let the intro play out before I changed the station.
Day 136:  Everyone’s starting to decorate for Christmas, but I’ve decided not to put up a tree in our apartment this year. 
Day 152: I’ve started a list of things I wished I had said before it was too late.
Day 153:  I had to throw away the list I started yesterday. 
It was already too long.
Day 171:  Last night, I stayed up until four A.M. watching Criminal Minds.
Day 188:  You once told me that finding a good person was like finding a newborn in a morgue.
You said it was like finding anything close to queer on daytime television.
  You said it was like finding a life boat in the middle of a raging hurricane.
   You said that once you find one good person, you hold onto them
   as if your life depends on it, because it might as well.
       But you never did say what to do if your one good person went away.
Day 197:  Today, your favourite song came on the car radio.  I let it play all the way through without changing the station.
Day 203:  I got a job at the cafe downtown that we used to go to every morning.  The cashier still thinks that you’re out of town.
Day 215:  I went to the toy store yesterday and bought a stack of colouring books and a 64 pack of crayola crayons. 
I’m starting to hang my drawings on the blank walls of my apartment.
Day 229: The neighbors from downstairs came over for casserole tonight.
Day 244: Happy birthday.
Day 251: It’s starting to get bad again.
Day 260: I miss you.
Day 268: I miss you.
Day 273: I miss you.
Day 281:  I’ve quit my job at the cafe.
  I’ve taken down the colouring pages from the walls.
Day 290:  Whenever I go to the store, I make sure to buy the kind of biscuits that you like to
eat.  I don’t particularly like them, so they just sit in the back of the cabinet until they
grow stale and crumble.
Then, I throw them away and buy another box.
Day 300: When I woke up this morning, I couldn’t find any reason to get up, so I just stayed in bed.
Day 311:  Your mother called today.  She asked how I was doing. 
Day 334: Your favourite song came on the radio in the apartment today.
I turned it off as soon as I heard the first chord.
Day 347: There’s a myth that says that, when swans die, they sing a final song of farewell that only lasts for a moment.
   It is supposedly one of the most beautiful sounds in existence.
    I found a notebook in the back of the hall closet yesterday.
      Why didn’t you tell me that you were such a beautiful writer?
Day 356:  I’m beginning to wonder if you ever existed at all.
Day 359: Isn’t it funny how quickly a year can pass?
Day 363:  I once described your heartbeat as a drumbeat.
  I said that your eyes were crafted of ocean water, with waves     glazed with  stars never before seen by humanity.
  I called your hands anchors that held me to Earth.
     But your heartbeat was a heartbeat.
     And your eyes were eyes.
     And your hands were hands.
     You were a human being, not a series of metaphors crafted to      explain something inexplicable. 
  I can explain you.
     You were good.
     You are good.
     You are everything I didn’t expect and nothing I ever wanted.
     You are half-awake smiles and half-asleep ‘good morning’s.
     You are the proper noun in the middle of a Sentence that            deserves capitalization.
     You are human.
   And that was all you had to be.
Day 364: I miss you.
Day 365:  It has been twelve months, four hours, twenty seven minutes, and thirty three seconds since I saw you last.

Make that thirty seven seconds.