Dear Malorie,
I’d give anything for April 8th to be just another Monday, but that can’t be.
Today marks three years without Malorie Mondays where we would cook dinner and eat on the couch watching Gossip Girl. Three years without painting our nails in the floor of our apartment. Three years without knowing exactly what you were thinking at any moment.
Three years without you.
Three years later, and I still regularly find myself wanting to text you a random, inside joke.
Three years later, and you are still the first person I want to call when I’ve had the best day or the worst.
Three years later, and the missing you still catches me off guard and takes my breath away. Sometimes it’s involuntary, and I don’t even know that I’m doing it. Missing my very best friend. My soul sister. My other half.
I catch myself thinking that I was lucky.
That we never grew up and grew apart.
Lucky that we didn’t move on to our separate, grown up lives. Living worlds apart instead of a living room apart.
We never got the chance.
That’s the unlucky part.
