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It has been exactly four months since our last meal outside of our house. If you had told me then what our life would look like today, I may have packed my bags and left then. I like to think that I’m not a runner, but deep down in my heart I know that I am. My work schedule tells the truth.

March 9, I sat devouring wings and pizza, instead of taking delight in what would be our last night out for a very long time. I ate my feelings and tried my best to hide my worry. I looked at other faces in the restaurant and wondered if they felt like the seam was ripping apart for them too.

I was worried about your upcoming tour. I was worried about my job. I was worried about the bike ride I was training for. I was worried about the concerts I was supposed to go to. I was still planning to go to Spain in a week. The world was beginning to crumble around us. I worried about it all. But mostly, I worried about me. I worry often about everyone else, but I also worry a lot about me.

In four months, we have spent more time together than we have in the entire six years of our relationship. I’m beginning to think that you don’t like me very much. I’m beginning to think I don’t like me very much either. This is a lot of time to think about the ways in which I’ve made sure that our life revolves around me and my needs. It is hard to look at. But then I wonder if I’m just feeling this way because you’re sad and I don’t know how to help you and it’s easier for me to blame myself.

I put on my uniform and go to work. At first, it felt noble and brave. If I could wear a cape with my uniform emblazoned with a capital M for my favorite archetype in our love story, you know that I would. I drag my suitcase full of insecurities about myself and my ability to be in a relationship to work. While I’m gone, I build a hologram of you in my mind. I miss you desperately. I miss feeling like we had a future. In the car on the way home, I pray that I will see some hope in your eyes. I have been looking in eyes of despair for three days. I miss smiles from everyone, but I miss yours the most.

Everything is fucked, the world feels like it’s on fire, and I need a hug.

I walk in the door and before my shoes are off, you tell me that the cats need litter and more food. I change my uniform and although I want nothing more than to sit down on the couch with you and have you play with my hair and ask me how my day was, there is no time for that. Also, you don’t ask me questions about my day anymore. I go outside to plant the flowers that will complete the backyard that has become the haven I’ve always dreamed of, but the bane of your entire existence.

It is more than 90 degrees and its humid and the sweat pours off my face and dirt is in my eyes, but I do not care. I love digging in the dirt. This is where I want to be now. In the dirt, with my hands. Away from people who look at me with despair each time I walk down the aisle on the plane. The dirt is forgiving. The dirt allows for things to grow. The dirt brings flowers, which bring bees, which bring something that feels a little bit like hope.

You know what I wish? I wish that we could sit in chairs in front of our planters and watch the vegetables grow for the rest of the summer. Watch their leaves sprout from the surface of the dirt that we packed with our own hands, watch their flowers turn to tiny vegetables, see them turn from green to red, watch them become what they’re meant to be, and see that despite our best and worst intentions — there is still room for abundance. But you don’t like it outside. You don’t like gardening. You built this garden for me. You made my dreams come true. You always make my dreams come true.

When we were newly dating, I wrote you an email and told you that I could see us slow dancing under festoon lighting in a backyard that was built for celebration. We have that backyard now. There are vegetables galore and we have time to get to know who we really are. The world is fucking burning but I still want to dance with you.

There is no end to the misery of this year if it tears us apart.