I walked without really knowing where I was going. Meeting up with Cora had been a terrible idea, but I had desperately wanted to see her. I’d secretly hoped that things with the rocker would’ve been going bad, that seeing me would’ve stirred up old feelings, that she’d come home. You know when you hear of amputees feeling like they’ve got an itch on a leg that doesn’t exist anymore? It’s called phantom limb. That’s what being without Cora felt like, a phantom limb.  It felt strange to be in the apartment without her, without her clothes, without her books strewn about, without her perfume lingering in the air. I even missed that god damn dog. Sometimes I could swear I could hear her, humming while vacuuming the living room, playing fetch with the beast. But instead of looking at me with love and adoration as she had for the last eight years, she had looked at me with pity. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.