It was inexplicable how quickly everything had gone down the drain.
Surely, I rationalised, it had to be some kind of a trick.
I clutched onto the letter as if it was my lifeline, as if letting it go would mean I would die.
I knew I would eventually have to get up and function, but in that moment it felt as though the devil himself was sitting in the corner, triumphantly appraising the heart he had just ripped out.
I closed my eyes to stop the pain and the anger and disappointment.
My head spun in a manner reminiscent of vertigo and I could feel myself holding back a lump in my throat from turning into the tears that would permanently stain the letter.
And then it all stopped.
Numbness, my old friend.
You have been missed.