Свинсонафаг

Time passes. Every tick that goes by ...aches... like the pulse of blood behind a bruise ...But in a way I'm glad. The pain is my only reminder that he was real...
that you all were...

Dear Alice, you've disappeared, like everything else. But who else can I talk to? …I'm lost, Alice. When you left — and he left — you took everything with you.
But the absence of him is everywhere I look.