Two very long and hard days. Numi and I are at the Bean. I watch as Numi’s pen fills out the pages in his journal with his long, elegant strokes. I know he is watching me as well. He has hidden his surprise at my somewhat renewed strength. These days, I feel better. I am walking mostly on my own and I have a refreshing color to my face. At least, I think so. We sit at our regular umbrella-covered table and this time, when the sun’s rays find my exposed flesh, I move my hand into the shade. These days, I no longer wish for death. Or treat my body recklessly. My new motto is “one more day.” One more day with Numi. One more day with Mary. One more day. And with each passing day, I give thanks to whoever is around that gives a damn if I gave thanks. Even if I never see Mary again. Or hear from her again. Even if I die alone with Numi by my side, I give thanks. Mary has given me a rare and beautiful gift. Still, say that to my aching heart. The one that has to leave her. With renewed vigor, I reach for my latte as Numi sips his iced coffee.
