I miss coffee in the morning. I miss watching him roll cigarettes. I miss waking up next to him, which is crazy because I usually refuse to sleep next to anyone, generally speaking.

I miss how my heart drops the second I see him after being apart. I miss kissing him goodbye at the subway.

There’s something therapeutic to me about obsession. People fuck love up all the time. To me, having a lover to keep comes down to one major factor: obsession.

I have every text message from the first one I ever received from the luthier. I can read our relationship from the initial “Hello…” to today’s “Good morning, I love you…” By our third day together, our eyes were glued to the other with a stick that I have never experienced, but I’m unable to look sideways in his presence.

I miss how we have conversations about dreaming the other. Expressions of concern that we’re actually just sitting around waiting to wake up at this point. I miss how we scheme a way to always be together, to both work from home┬áso we don’t have to ever be separate.

It’s always been important to be with someone who wants to be with someone. I miss being able to touch that every day.

My flights are finalized. I leave on August 11th. Four weeks. 28 days. That’s ages. I cried yesterday. It’s like the third time I’ve cried about this in three days. I’d rather be sad feeling my feelings instead of bullshitting to the world how stoked I am to be roughly 4,322 miles away from my heart.

I might die over the next four weeks. #justsayin