Almost two years since this relationship began—again—and all that’s left is a handful of what-ifs and some photos on my phone of a time that feels a million miles away. There was an initial period of mourning. Now though, all I’m left with is a familiar sense of strangeness. It’s not unduly unpleasant, and yet it’s not exactly something I seek out, either. I could go into specifics, but I won’t. One day, I’ll write it down, when the nature of loss becomes anecdotal. Almost everything becomes anecdotal in the end, even the bits that hurt the most. I’ll miss the dogs. I know that much. Especially Teddy. I’ll miss our afternoon naps together. The somewhat mundane routines that become beautiful the minute they’re gone. I’ll also miss the Christmas of last year when things felt reasonably healthy. Anniversaries have always been important to me. Not of the big things, but the little things. Little moments; fragile snapshots of times now resigned to memories tainted by everything that follows. I’m not bitter, though. I’m not even sad. Life is a story of many chapters, and this is merely another. The pages keep turning, and until mine comes to an end, I want the words to describe my journey to be both wild and weird.