My novel and I aren't speaking at the moment. It's my fault. I admit it. But there were these circumstances, and, well, things just kind of got out of hand.
We're sleeping in separate rooms.
I try not to think about it. I stay away from the things that remind me of all the good times we had together. I try not to imagine what could have been. I know we can fix it, but that takes time. It takes energy. More energy than I have to spare right now.
I'm sorry, Novel. I'm sorry I neglected you. I'm sorry I haven't put any time into our relationship in the last six weeks. I'm sorry I haven't given you the attention you deserve. There's no one else, I swear. I've just been busy with work and doctors and family. I'll get back to you soon. We'll go away somewhere, just the two of us, and spend some quality time getting reacquainted. You'll see. It will be magical. We may even spawn a sequel.
Until then, you have my apologies.
Please don't give up on us.