When you realise there's something missing.

I really, really hate late February and early March.

Mother's day can fuck right off. The posters. The cards. The adverts. All of it.

I've smiled through the one day I want to spend curled up and crying. Can I not just have a fucking break from it, Hallmark? I have to spend two days feeling like this?

This is why I've been trying to keep busy. I've been going out, seeing people (well, person. But that's for another time, or maybe not at all), trying to get on with things. 

But even my usual method of blanking things out, going for a run, hasn't been working. Every run has ended with me thinking about her. About her silver New Balance trainers. About her finding new routes to run even on holiday. About hearing her leave on a Saturday morning, then come back half an hour later with the papers and a smile on her face.

Mum, I miss you. I mean, of course I do. I just didn't think it would always be this hard not having you around. I got told that "time is a great healer" more times than I could count, who'd have thought so many people could be so wrong?