It’s summer, and I haven’t been wearing my watch. I went for a walk along the beach yesterday and had no idea how long I was gone.

I tried to think about nothing. Tried to focus on the blueness of the sky and the shapes of its clouds and take deep breaths and feel the sun and the sand burning my skin. Instead I thought about names I might give to children I don’t have. Then I thought about what the fuck is wrong with me for wanting to have kids just so I can name them after my dead sister. Despite knowing that nothing is really wrong with me.

I’ve been trying to read books, to scroll through pictures and posts, to eat cherries and spit out their pits, to go on hikes and walks and runs, to watch Orange is the New Black. I’ve been trying to be 24 and no-longer employed and fine with it. I’ve been trying to be tired enough that I’ll fall asleep at night. Sometimes it’s easy. Sometimes it’s harder. Two weeks ago— when I left Colorado and the person who makes me feel the most calm and safe— I became so anxious that I could not catch my breath for I don’t know how long.

I try to remember if there were stretches of time like this one: months that went by when I didn’t talk to or hear from Em. Because it still feels possible that she’s only gone because she’s studying abroad. Like my friends’ little sisters, who are all turning 21 or graduating or giving toasts at weddings or doing anything that living little sisters do that their big sisters then post on Instagram, where I “like” pictures to say “BE SO GRATEFUL.”

That is what makes me sad on rain rain rainy days sitting across from Sydney and Mollie at The Velvet Cactus and watching them be sisters. Because then it’s tangible and true that I can no longer be the same way I was before. And I have no delusions about life being fair; still, it’s not fair. You took with you something that was mine when you killed yourself, Emily, just like you used to take my clothes without asking. I just want that part of myself back so I can roll my eyes at our parents and someone will read my mind and know why. So I can speak in a nonsense language with someone and laugh so hard that our abs feel a seven-minutes’-worth burn.

I couldn’t wait for you to leave. I drank to your departure from New Orleans on the last day I saw you because your depressed visit had been so draining, and then four days later you were dead. So I try not to think about how long it’s been and I haven’t been wearing my watch.