Eight Months

Time is weird.

I remember thinking in hours. Then days. Now months.

Eight of them.

Rory has been gone eight months today.

There are times I still count her to get tickets.

There are times I actually think she’s going to come around a corner.

Then there are times that being with her was a different life entirely.

Man, eight months.

I miss her.

Every minute.

Every hour.

Every day.

Every month.