The hardest thing about losing you is that I didn’t just lose you once. I lose you every single day that we don’t speak. I lose you in the morning when I reach for my phone and hope to see a message or a missed call that isn’t there. I lose you at night when I realise that you’re the only person I want to moan to about how crap my day was, but I can’t. And I lose you in between those two moments, in all of the hours of silence that go by where I do nothing but think about you, go to call you, and then don’t. I lose you when I watch certain films, listen to certain songs, and go to certain places that are all tainted with certain parts of you and how you make me feel. And I used to think I could only miss you when I was alone, and I mean really alone, like in the shower or when trying to fall asleep, but that’s not true. I miss you even when I’m around other people, when I wish they were you. And I lose you then, too. I lose you every time I see your name or your words or your photographs, and I lose you in my mind when I don’t. You’re always there. I can’t not think about you. It’s only when I’m asleep that I get a break from it, from thinking about you and wanting you and missing you. But then I wake up the following day, roll over, check my phone, and I just know I’m going to feel it all over and over again.