I met with a counselor yesterday, and it was really nice to talk to someone outside of my inner circle that can relate to what I’ve been going through. I miss him all the time. I would give anything to hear him say, “Hey, Chena” to me one last time. She tried to explain what my parents were going through. You lose a child, and suddenly the world stops. Nothing makes sense anymore. This has been the longest two months of my life. It hasn’t even been two months yet. She suggested I go back to the place where the world stopped and just sit there. Grab a giant stick of crayon, hold it like a child without dexterity, and scribble mercilessly on a page. Write a letter. Don’t type it, but write it. I don’t really like the weekends anymore. Each week feels like a repeat of the last. Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot to be happy for, and I am happy often, but other times I’m not, and I can’t get out of it. Sometimes you need to cry just like you need to eat or sleep. Rambling. I’m just rambling all the time.

I miss your faces. I miss everything.