it gets easier, eventually, they said, and i just nod, feeling the weight of the book in my hand, the rough edge of the paper where i found it, that little note just tucked in there, her looped letters, her precise slant, suddenly it's not just a book anymore, it's a breath held, a conversation half-finished, and my throat tightens like it always does, remembering the words that aren't there now, almost reached out to show it to someone, anyone, then remembered, there's no one here to see it, just me, always just me with these fragmented things, these ghost taps, these quiet echoes, and i almost said her name out loud, to the empty room, that muscle memory in my mouth, but i swallowed it, just like i swallowed the phantom second sip of coffee when i left the two mugs out again but only filled one, it's this endless circling, this constant re-learning how to be a single orbit when the other body is just gone, even when the summer sun tries to push its warmth through the window, i still feel the coolness of that space beside me.