Debunkifying?

It's been 181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

I sat in that dark car, and laughed with delirious assumed understanding and bottled relief. 181 days before today.

 

So, 181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

Seems like enough time to let alcohol-soaked cotton swabs infiltrate the lungs of butterflies and wanderers and all manner of flying things. 181 days before today.

181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

I think I understand. This day. Day 182. Month 6. Hour 4,345. Somewhere between the minutes of 260,652 and 260,689; second 15,638,472 or 15,638,463. 

181 days before today.

We left the acidic disease behind us, and thought we could move on. 

We cracked instead. And for

181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

I've been trying to pretend it wasn't so. 

She talks about him as if they are what we were before

181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

It hurts. The stories she tells, were mine before the needle started to jump wildly. Before the quake hit.

And today, I understand. 

181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

ago, was the moment he realized that, try as he may to make it so, I could not fill the void those lovely eyes left.

 181 days.

5 months and 30 days.

25 weeks and 6 days.

4,344 hours.

260,640 minutes.

15,638,400 seconds.

ago was the moment he debunked the mystery of our failure. 

Day 182 was the moment for me.

Dear Liz

Hey.

It's been a while now. You could say I've finally come to accept. I think ignore is a better word.
But it feels like we've talked it out. A little. You speak to me in my art. Through our past letters. In the corners of my memory. You're here, but you're slowly leaving.

I mean, not entirely. You will forever be in the back of my heart and mind. Bananas will always flash by when I see an Italian Greyhound. Your whoops of joy will echo when I see a flippin fork lift. Canvas and buckles brush against my skin when I see a purple carabiner. Betas, bullets, iFly, Hawaiian snacks. Homemade wrapping paper and crystal necklaces. Shoplifting. Stargazing. Sex.
All of it is still here, with me, a part of me.

I'm losing the details. On which finger your tattoo lay. The sarcasm laced songs you showed me. Your phrases. Your clothing, and jewelry. I guess it's not the important stuff, but it's a part of you and I don't want to loose any crumb of the Liz I remember.

You're like the wind now. I think of you when I'm inspired to action. You are a silent force that remains with me. Adds strength when I can no longer muster it in myself. You are the kick in my step, the ring in my laughter, and most importantly, the mark by which I compare my life, in retrospect.

Miss you, girl.
Kenz