Hi, gorgeous.

We're closing in on three months since you've been gone, and time is still crawling at an agonizingly slow pace. I was talking to a friend when I likened dealing with grief so far to navigating a mine field; you are walking along fine until you are very abruptly not fine. I've especially been struggling with the number of "firsts" that keep arising as I try to navigate life without you here.

This weekend was the first time I had a dream about you, gorgeous. At least the first one I can remember, and it hurts how vividly I remember it. We were in a Renaissance Faire type setting; this was one of the last things we had gone out to do before the fire so it makes sense. It's agonizing thinking about how happy I was in that dream. I could hear your voice and see your smile again. We were talking like nothing had happened, like you weren't gone and everything was just normal. Then my logic brain kicked in when I realized you were wearing your scalemail chest piece which I haven't cleaned yet after finding it during the demolition at the house. I asked you when you cleaned it, knowing how covered in ash and soot it actually is. Your smile faded in time with my realization of what was happening like you could feel my heart sinking. Waking up hasn't hurt so much since those first few days after the fire.

Last night was the first time going to our favorite neighborhood karaoke night since everything happened. Physically not much has changed there (you'd have gotten a giggle out of the projector being duct taped to the ceiling, though). It didn't feel "right," though. So many of the people I expect to see there were there. The bartenders were still absolute legends and I had my usual delivered to the table within a minute or two of arriving. There were smiles, laughs, merriment all around, and I tried to enjoy it as best I could (I think I even succeeded a few times). I could still feel the void in the room; the aching your absence brings.

I'll be moving into an apartment in just under a month now. I'm looking forward to having my own space again, and especially having an actual bed again. This will be my first living space where you're not present. I'm not looking forward to the empty feeling that will bring. I'm worried that nothing will ever really feel like "home" moving forward. You're home to me, Madelaine. It never mattered to me where we were as long as you were there; that's what made it home. I'll be trying to do what I can to make sure you're as present as possible at the new apartment, and wherever I end up after. It'll be the closest I can get to making it "home" now that you're gone.

I miss you, Madelaine. I love you.