I’ve been doing well on my own, thriving in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible. Though sometimes I miss Felix with such force, I need to place a hand on the wall to keep steady. It sneaks up on me in the dairy aisle of the grocery store when I’m picking out butter. It slams into me when I’m making coffee, knocks me about when I’m braiding my hair before bed. But I take strange comfort in these waves of heartache. They’re like annotations in a book, a note in the margin that reads, This is important.
