Tuesday, September 21

I haven't thrown it away yet...

September 21, 2080

It’s still there on the table. I don’t look at it but I feel it sitting there when I come home at night. My palms itch and I want to pick it up and tear it open to find out what’s inside. It’s probably nothing. I’m getting worked up over nothing. He probably doesn’t even remember he was here the other night. Why would he?