I don't know just what to do with myself. The pain still stabs me without warning, I feel fine, I get up to go to the bathroom, I get very sad. I leave work and walk to my car and squeeze out some tears.

Life looks so plain and unbeautiful. The magic in the air has been replaced by cold. I feel compelled to get drunk and get laid, but that would do violence to the wounds that are still fresh. Time is the only path out of here, but it's so slow.

The Blow is doing a great job of singing my feelings. I think she has a very similar landscape of insecurity, hope, and hormones. And the line that runs through my head the most -- I love the place where we shared our tiny grace But because it's real doesn't mean it's gonna work. There's the tragedy.