On Missing You

I miss you like an idiot misses the point. Like the storm troopers miss the Jedi. After all these years, after all this time. You are still on my mind. I've never been good at the sentimental shit about soul mates and love being for ever. But this is not love. Not anymore I think. This is something else. Something I have no words for. Something I have trouble writing about. Something that makes me sit and stare at the words that have no shape. And I miss you. I miss the idea of you. The shape of you. The incredible, magical, utter pointlessness that is you. It is like trying to describe the smell of the number nine. And I keep trying.

Jerk.

I have no idea where you are. No idea what you're doing. This makes me sad. Not all the time. But once a month or so you make me sad. I wonder, did you give free reign to your mind? Did it freak you out? Do you even have a mind left anymore? And am I still around, wandering in and out through the corridors in your mad mad brain? Or are we running, holding hands, away from the descending darkness as your brain cells die in hoards and you forget one more day that you spent with me?

Blue lobster.

Do you know that I am real? Are you still real? Do you remember me, the shape of my smile and the way that I cock my head sideways when I'm thinking? Thoughts like this don't do me any good. But not knowing is an itch that I just can't scratch. I've always been curious. Always. And there is nothing that annoys me more than not knowing something that I desperately want to know. Do you remember this about me? How I love the internet because it has all the answers? And how I love Google because it knows everything? And that I love the TV and movies and books, and that I mutter and hum to myself when I concentrate? Do you read the book about demons that you stole from me? Do you wonder if a demon got me because you took my book and now I can't recognize or exorcise them? I'm safe. So far, so good. No demons.

Love Coconut.

You were my person. Even though, in the grand scheme of things, it was for a short time. We were so good while it lasted. An inspiration to love. "If you two don't make it, I don't believe in love." I was meant for you and you were meant for me. Both perfectly imperfect and beautiful in our flaws. We got us at our worst and deserved us at our best. We both ate with forks in a land of two spoons. But every good thing must come to an end. So we had an ending of sorts. Then another, and then another one more. And now, nothing. Radio silence. Not a word. Not a hum. Not a whisper. No news is good news. Oh no, he's ok. And I still miss you. A little less every day.