I can tell from what you are listening to on Spotify that your heart is broken. Who did that to you? Do you want me to punch his lights out? I will. And are you going to be okay or should cash in my high-yield CD to buy a plane ticket and fly to you and scoop you up and hold you until you feel better? Just tell me. I will do that for you. God, remember how we used to get drunk in the day time and be blinded leaving the bar at 4 pm, our squinty eyes giving it all away, we’d climb out from the bar-cave into the brilliant sun and search for cheap food and more drinks and dancing…remember how noon brunch turned into 4am dancing on the subway platform and falling asleep on the train and waking up in Coney Island, just to laugh at the ocean until the sun came up? Remember when you loved me more than anyone else loved me and when I loved you the same way? I would certainly cash in my high-yield CD to get that back again. Too bad time is not-for-sale. Without getting all Carol King on you, if you need me, send me the bat signal, or an email, or a message in a bottle. You know what to do. Breathing is hard, but you have to keep doing it.