Rebecca
It's been three days since Marcus boarded that flight. I watched him walk through the security gate at JFK with that stupid, confident smile on his face. The one that always hides how nervous he actually is. He turned back three times to wave at me.
And I stood there, a mess of emotion, clutching my coffee.
I thought I'd be okay. I thought I'd come back to my hometown, binge something dumb on Netflix, and distract myself with work. But I haven't been okay.
It's not the absence that hurts the most. It's the space he left behind.
The way my phone feels heavier in my hand, waiting for his text.
The way I almost make two cups of coffee in the morning.
I hate this.
I curl up on the couch now, in his hoodie. It is gray, too big, and smells like his cologne and I scroll through our last chat.
I smile at the screen. I miss him.
I miss him so damn much it surprises me.
