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 so 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