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Petra, people tell me that I will ‘move on’ and I can’t believe it. But if it ever does happen, and I forget to feel this pressing absence of you, if I make it through a meaningless party and don’t remember to hate everyone for their peaceful lives until the morning, please know that I am already sorry. I am going to try to be brave like you asked me to, but I don’t have any idea yet what that means. Is it braver to allow the sadness of your leaving to spread into each of my bones until it is as big as you were to me? Or is it braver to let you drift out into what may very well be a brighter, finer place than this and be happy to think of your joy there? I hope, Petra, that I get it right.
