Winter is on her way. Lately I have found myself searching for you more and more in the pages of novels and in the old leather-covered poetry books that line my shelves. It’s surprising in that all the poets and all the authors seem to know the loss of you, too, and they find the words that I can’t to describe the aching feeling you’ve left me with. They keep me company now that you’re gone, and their companionship has become something I value rather greatly.
I still miss you.