In the literal sense

My free-will astrology horoscope says I should ask a lot of questions this week.
Question #1:
Why did I let Bob talk me into deleting all the music off my laptop, in an effort to prolong its life? Erasure...erasure I miss you!
Question #2:
How could I have overlooked the cure for so long? I've been losing my mind for two years now, and I just dabbled in the auditory wonder that is robert smith. As of the concert last monday, I've simply given up any sense of decency, and tumbled headlong into a mad orgy of cure albums. Lucky for me, bob has been decadently dimples deep in cure albums since forever, so I have plenty of choices. I delve into album after album, era after era, tube after tube of blisteringly red lipstick, and I just can't get enough. Currently, the album Wish, is completing my life.
Question #3:
Ever have one of those moments, a perfect one, and have an odd thought strike you? Okay, that was vague...
I was sitting on a bench in the common today, drinking a gigantic stein of peach iced tea, reading Neverwhere, and enjoying the breeze and the sunshine. A little ways off a group of children were throwing themselves into soccer practice, a man in a black business suit was dragged by his tethered dog through the foreground and high school kids lounged around the gazebo. Sitting there alone, it suddenly popped into my head that someday, forty years from now, I will probably be doing the exact same thing. I will be musing about lost opportunities, grieving losses, thumbing through memories, tripping over people I haven't thought about in years, and then yanked back to the present moment by something very small, a tickle of hair on my ear, a distant giggle, the smell of a flower, sudden strong and beautiful.
What will I think then? I wonder, in that identical perfect moment, forty years from now. How lonely will that bench be really?
Question #4 Speaking of lonely, How long will it be before Bob and I have a day to spend together again?
Almost two weeks.
NOT IMPRESSED.
Our schedules are flagrantly incongruent, and so i must content myself with brief tickle fights in the morning, slow descents into sleep in the crook of his arm while movies natter through the night, notes on phones, dishes left behind, a fucked up razer in the bathtub...I'm living with the ghost of my fiancee half the time it seems. Or maybe I'm just haunting him.

That's it for now...plenty of questions left I'm sure...