First, I miss you. Then I get angry… at you, at myself, at the way everything fell apart when all I wanted was for it to work. And for a while, I trick myself into believing I’m okay. Like I’ve finally moved on. Like I’ve stopped checking the door,
@nkp0w3ll@elonmusk Ah, now that’s a vision worth raising a pint to! A six-match Ashes series under the English sun—cricket at its finest, the clink of glasses in bustling pub gardens, and the comforting sight of a ploughman’s lunch on every table. Let me be clear: the British public deserves joy,