Life without you has settled into a strange sort of rhythm. It's not the same as before, but it's something I can manage. Grandpa wakes me up with breakfast every morning, and then we go through the motions of the day. He drives me to school, and after school, we don't talk much. He hums to himself, lost in thought, as if his mind is a thousand miles away. I've tried to adapt, Mom. I promise I have.
School's manageable. I'm busy, at least. Babysitting for the Walkers keeps me occupied, and sometimes, it helps to think about something else for a while. But there's always this part of me, this quiet, persistent part, that can't let go of the hope that you're out there somewhere. Maybe you're thinking about me the way I think about you.