It is true that the crumbs of our eleven years together still crowd my house and swarm in the corners of my consciousness. On the nights after he left, the pit of my stomach was flooded with acid. I missed the safe, colorful loneliness from before I met him. I lay on my back, floating above me was a peeling ceiling, a neighbor who square danced, phosphorescent air, the sound of airplanes, and God. In Jay's absence all of these things floated in an oceanic broth of pain. I lay on my back, crushed.
