It was my first holiday without him. Every moment I could hear him in my head, a vivid memory after we first were married. “From now on I have a date for every national holiday!” he beamed with utter happiness.

I didn’t sleep much this weekend, despite the impressive amounts of alcohol consumed. Why can’t the inebriation Gods give me a break? It’s 4:00 a.m. and I am starring at the ceiling wondering what the hell I’m doing awake and thinking about him. I’m happy and cozy in bed. I just had a great night with a great friend, so why I am thinking about him. What’s worse is that it’s not a romantic thought, it’s like waking up and thinking about your buddy.

It’s the dreams of marriage and white weddings. The whirlwind thoughts of babies, puppies, and flower boxes on the windows. It’s the memories of ice cream cones in the convertible singing our hearts out. It’s the memories of the morning after we got engaged. I woke up crying. We stayed at the St. Regis in Houston. It was a beautiful suite full of white lilies, the smell permeated in the sheets. The windows were open and facing downtown Houston at sunrise. I was so happy, so afraid. I felt like my life could never be this fairytale I was living. I felt so broken by my past, that I couldn’t believe this was my destiny. I put the white rob and slippers the hotel gave us on, and walked over to the window. My vision distorted by the tears, I watched him sleep. A joyful and content slumber carried him away.

I don’t understand my life, or where it’s headed. I don’t understand this grey matter under my ponytail that’s running in circles. I feel like I’m dying, and at the same time being born. Hope and hopelessness intertwined.