Broken. That's the name of the font for my new header. I've been messing with the layout (again), and that's the font. It's Broken.
I feel broken.
I was looking at pictures yesterday from before the fire. Pictures of when I lived in New York. Pictures of when I met Dan. That's all I have left. And what I noticed is that I look happy. I haven't seen that face in months. Even the picture on the front of the Statesman when I'm laughing even though I'm digging through the ashes of my past, I look happy.
I thought it would get better, this grieving. I thought that by the time a year passed I would have more good days than bad ones. I thought that I would look at my home and think, "it's ok" and "this is my home now." But I don't.
I wish I could take a pill and make it better, give me back my house, my year. But no drug can do that. Meanwhile, I feel broken. Just like the title. This is my life after the fire.