Who likes groundhog day...?

The prompt yesterday: start the writing with the words "six more days." Include all 5 senses. You have ten minutes.

Six more weeks until I receive that dreaded envelope, sheltering that bill I fear to see with my own eyes. That phone bill from last month, my last month of hope that I can remember. That phone bill comes awfully late, I know, tearing up my heart as I tear open the envelope, scanning the numbers, statistics, and sequences that remind me of you.
I swear you're still here, muffled sounds of what I thought was your voice as you walk into my apartment. I thought I heard the clanging of your keys after you dropped them on the table.
I can't even sleep at night without remembering you, the scent of your cologne still lingering on the fibers of the fabric on my pillowcase. Even though I've washed those linens too many times to count, you're still there.
Or is it my imagination?
I thought you'd want to know your sister came over the other day. We're still friends. She cooked for me, making that signature secret recipe of Italian marinara fettuccine whatever it is, but your taste was in it, you are still here even in the food I eat.
You thought I threw away your notes, but I still have them. They are torn at the edges because I've traced your words with my delicate fingers so many times, hoping it would bring you back.
But you're still here.