So I'm binge watching the second series of Fleabag tonight and I'm finding it ridiculously poignant; I'm welling up every 5 minutes. Theres a lot about death in it. My wife, whom we put in the ground 2 weeks ago (although she died back in November), would have watched with me, would have laughed at my sentimentality and we would have discussed, endlessly, the plot, the acting, what it all meant.... probably over a glass of wine, her feet on my lap
She's not here and I have no one to laugh at me. I tell myself it's all going to be alright.
But it's not; it's never going to be alright