Almost one month. I'm finally ready to talk about it. Writing has always been a way of escape for me in the past, penning all of my dark thoughts so I could live in the light of day. It was not what I thought I was getting a call for on a Sunday morning. Y et we only met a week ago. We talked. We hang out together. Y ou left without a word. At that time, mostly, I just felt numb. Physically, I was there, but I didn’t feel here mentally. I worked and I studied for my postgrad classes. But I was not okay. I didn’t know how to deal with grief. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. We were together for 17 years. We bonded over our love for talking, our similar music tastes, and our perfectionism. We would talk for hours about the most mundane things or serious life decisions. We were so alike that sometimes we would argue and get into spats, but we always made up. I don’t know what to say to explain how much it hurts and confuses me that you left so easily. It’s...