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6:59 PM
It's been three hundred and thirteen days, but I finally deleted his number and forgot his middle name and I moved away because I still remembered that twelve-grain toast with cinnamon sugar was his favorite thing to eat for breakfast.
I don't know what he's up to, but I stopped calling four months ago because he stopped caring about the fact that I needed him and I realized that love doesn't fix a broken person and that a puzzle isn't complete just because two pieces fit together. My waist is still too thin and food still doesn't taste as good as it should and I still talk out loud to myself. Nobody else has wanted to put up with those things like Davis did, but I shouldn't compare other boys to him because he wasn't like other boys. Maybe he is now.
Maybe he still isn't.
It's been three hundred and thirteen days, but a letter just came.
