I ate, this afternoon, the last of the chicken she and I had baked. It was stuffed chicken, she hadn't needed a recipe. I'm not quite sure what she put inside of it, but I was in charge of cutting the pieces of meat open, so that she might fill them.

This happened last Friday; the cooking. I was upset, nightly, because I was afraid of loosing her to someone else. But standing there in the kitchen, mixing the chocolate mousse, setting the timer on the oven, I loved her. She loved me, too, even then, I think. We held eachother and danced and made fun, and I was proud of both of us for being so light together when these nightly arguments had ruined my appetite and left me unable to sleep.

One week ago, I had a lover, a partner, and a best friend. I was terrified, even then, of what my feelings would do to me once she went home. But in those fleeting moments, I was happy.

Now I am without much of anything.

That is, to say, my feelings did just what I thought they would do. Jealous and terrified, I said some things I should never have said, and she said some things I won't ever be able to forget. I know she's gone now, and it's a small comfort to know that at least the healing can now begin. But I'm trying to wrestle with what she meant to me, and how that should continue to affect me now.

It would be so easy to believe that she was using me from the beginning, because looking back it does seem like she modeled herself off of me, in a way. she used my connections and my knowledge. She used, though she may never recognize it, my doubts in her. For every thing she did I always expected something better than what came before. She hated this, but I think the constant motivation bettered her in the long run.

It's also possible to believe that she loved me then, and loves me still. This is, I think, the hardest to cope with, considering what she's done. Then again, the old mystics say that the road of suffering is the path to enlightenment. Maybe to continue believing in her will better me in the long run? I suspect I'm not strong enough.

No, most likely, she loved me once. But for whatever reason, be it something I did, or just the path she was headed down, that went away. I don't blame her for this. She's a creature of pleasure and immediate gain, how could she have faith in me when even I didn't, sometimes? No, I only regret that she couldn't have told me this. Let me down when it ended for her, and not string me along until she found some other champion to take my place. I will probably always resent her for this.

I didn't sleep at all last night. I have a few pills left that knocked me unconscious for a few hours this morning. I eat as a function, and often feel sick. If there was any doubt of my affection for her, this is my body granting, even to myself, an irrefutable sort of proof. The loss of her has sent me into a toxic shock. I can only hope to occupy one hour at a time until it goes away.

And I don't know why I write her these letters. I've got dozens of them now. I don't think she reads them, I don't think I really want her to. I want her to imagine me with a dozen other people, having a great time now that she's out of the way.

Maybe I just wanted to let you know that the chicken is gone.