This is how the data is interpreted

This feels senseless, irreparable. I know it’s not.
It’s a direct hit, though.

A different kind of heartbreak; More subtle, maybe— unexpected. More reckless, it feels. Unavoidable, now: you’ve crossed the Rubicon. The kaleidoscope has lost some of its color.

How do I relearn living (again)? Who will help me make sense of things? Who’ll make me laugh the way you do? Understand me the way you do?

Nothing for it but to walk the remaining hours of daylight and into the evening. Once it gets dark they won’t see the tears, so I’ll keep walking. I’m chasing miles, collecting them like candles before an imminent blackout. Like dry goods or roots that’ll feed me through winter.

Not enough words for friend, but your name is one of the best.

(for Z, part II)