I removed Josephine’s heart today. It sits on a box in my closet, waiting to resume its pulse when the snow melts. It’s been weeks since I’ve felt her purr beneath me. It won’t be long now.

My apartment is now clean enough to eat off of. I never understood that expression, to be honest. It’s clean, but I don’t have the urge to cover it in chocolate fondue and lick it all up. The entire idea is absurd.

Tonight is imminent. I can’t stand the idea of parting in tears or in torment. I don’t think I’ll enjoy the evening quite so much as I enjoyed the day.