Don't be distracted.

At the beginning of all of this, I couldn't stop thinking about the end; what being together again would be like. Like how it had been before he left again. But after three of the eight months this is going to take, all I can think about is tomorrow; making it through one minute after another and another. I try to fill my minutes with worthwhile things, but the majority of them are spent painfully, slowly and for lack of a better word, wasted.

Now I cannot even comprehend what it would be like to have him here. I don't know if this is better or worse than how it was before; when I couldn't comprehend that he wasn't. My mind wouldn't allow itself to get around the idea that if I called his house, he wouldn't pick up and if I went to church, he wouldn't be there.

But this process has made me realize how much of my life is really not meaningful. Normally, we rush around through every day and week and month like we have somewhere important to go and something important to maintain. Minutes of hours are rarely contemplated, rarely even noticed. But I know the voice of the old clock in my room. It comforts me, telling me that seconds are passing and time is still taking me to him, but it puts me on edge; whispering of the nothing I do each day. I long for something alive to infiltrate the caverns of my lungs, the passages of my brain and the nerve endings in my fingers.

I'm dying to find it.