Missing You

I miss you.

Whoever said it gets easier, lied.

Missing somebody, never gets easier, unless of course, you happen to reunite with them. 

But not being with someone you care about, is never easy.

Sure, there are days where you can bare it, where the pain doesn't get to you as deeply, when your mind doesn't feel like thinking, let alone feeling. 

These days happen, because you almost become use to the pain of it all. 

These days, you almost become numb, in a way. As numb as one can get while still caring.

But most days are hard. 

Especially the longer you go without the person.

You slowly forget what it felt like to have them hold you. 

You try harder each day to hold on to the vague memory of how they smell.

You can't seem to remember exactly how their heartbeat went. Was it two counts, or three?

And losing the things that use to be your only constant familiarity isn't the only hard part.

It's also the days where everything goes wrong.

You spill your morning coffee, your shirt fits funny, your hair won't stay in place, your too hot, or too cold.

These are the days where you know the only thing that will help you, is him.

He is the only thing that will make you forget that your shirt is stupid, and your hair is a mess, he would be there to warm you up, or cool you down.

And the most frustrating thing is, that you know he wants to be with you. 

He just can't right now.

It would almost be easier if he didn't want you, that way, you could hate them.

Things would be much easier if you could hate him.

But, you can't. He's done nothing wrong.

How irritating. 

This guy, you have lived without your entire life, until these past few years.

And then you meet, and he likes your leather jacket, he makes you a playlist you'll never forget, teaches you how to play poker, lays with you in bed while the blue grey morning arrives. 

And you're hooked.

Now, your life doesn't seem normal, when they aren't in it constantly. 

You don't feel normal, when they aren't in it.

Missing you hasn't gotten easier.

I constantly try to distract myself. 

Books, television, running, walks, nightly hikes, pictures, drawing, writing, music.

Anything to get my mind off of you. 

But no matter how good my day has gone, or how distracted my thoughts have been.

Once I shut off all the lights, lay in bed, and I am alone with my thoughts. 

And there you are again.

Racing through my mind.

Through fading memories, through our daily conversations, or lack there of.

You are there, racing, until I fall asleep.

Knowing I'll see you soon helps, though.

Even if it's only for a measly ten days.

Actually, it's one of the biggest reasons I get up in the morning.

One more day down, the closer I am to you.

Beautiful and the Ugly

You know, my childhood wasn't the easiest thing, or the best for that matter.
But being a kid, I thought everything was perfect and beautiful.
Even the ugly things.
The flat tires, and lost puzzle pieces.
I still thought they were perfect, and beautiful.

The trouble, for me, about growing older, is that the beautiful things become more beautiful, and the ugly things become uglier.
And sometimes, finding out what is which, can be rather heart breaking.

The awareness I was missing as a child, really gets to me as an adult.
The beautiful and the ugly make me cry, equally.

As an adult, I realize there is sadness in both the beautiful and the ugly.
I am more aware that there a lot of things in common, with the beautiful and the ugly.
Too many things in common, maybe.

Too Much

 It's the scariest thing to realize how much someone means to you.
When it hits you, I mean, really hits you, all these thoughts and questions rush through your head.
A sad emotion starts to creep on you, sometimes, as your mind starts to race in thought, late at night.
What if for some reason things don't work out?
How are you possibly going to live without them in your life?
Someone you once had lived without, you now wish to hold onto for the rest of your days.

Sometimes, it's all a little too much to handle. How much a person means to you.
If you think about any form of love, and the moments their love hits you, for too long, or too deeply, it's a little too much to handle.
The form of a father figure, eating midnight snacks with you because neither of you could sleep, or him taking you to parks on spring Saturday mornings with paint, and a brand new canvas, just for you.
The form of a grandmother telling you about her garden, as you walk through it together, slowly touching every plant beside you, or a Grandfather who knows your days been rough, and says 'take a seat', and you finish the puzzle laid out, without saying a word.
The form of a little sister, helping wrap blankets around you after you crawl in her bed, crying.
The form of you, sharing your hospital bed with me, so I could get some sleep.

These are some of the moments I think about when I think about love.
There are some, too sacred to mention.
But all are the same.
They are real love.

And sometimes, real love is terrifying.

End Results

I haven't been writing lately. I am not sure if it's because I have no idea how to put my feeling into words, or that I have too much to say at one given moment, and the page turns up blank.

So, I am going to try and write as best I can, for how much I am forcing this entry.

I'd like to first of start by saying, I didn't know it was possible to have such deep nostalgia for a place I've never been to.

 For streets I've never walked down, and lights out side the window I've never looked out of.
Will I always have nostalgia, melancholia, of a place you are at without me?
Is that how souls work?
Once connected to another, do they always notice, or particularly, point out the absence of the other?


And another thing- I have a hard time saying soul. I think, there are so many, too many, definitions of what a soul can be.
For me, I always wobble on a accurate definition for myself.
But right now, the best I can explain a soul, would be a energy, almost like your most natural state of nature.
When I think of souls..
I think of light, which I can only can describe as white Christmas lights-when you look at them from really far away, and it almost consumes the entire house, or tree, with that pure, glob of creamy crystal light.
 I think of truth in it's purest form. Knowing someone, or something for exactly who, or what they are, and accepting that.
I think of being five years old, and running as fast as I can, and then, I swear on my favorite Bewitched tin lunch box that the wind helped pick me up.
I think of that wind. The wind that first taught me the feeling of flying.
So, my Christmas tree glob soul connected to yours.
How wonderful, since you are, 2215 miles away from me.

Secondly:
I lay in bed and think to myself.
If this stops. What in the hell am I going to do.
If this keeps going. What in the hell am I going to do.
I guess since I don't have some five year plan, everyone around me thinks I am sort of failure.
Because I have no idea what I want to do with my life. And, maybe, that makes me one.

There are only two things I know I want, and need.

The first thing is that, I want a beautiful life.
I want files, books and frames full of pictures from my life. Of anything, of everything.
My favorite spots in Utah, the people I meet at bus stations, faces you make, things that are so strange that always make you think for a little while.
I want journals full of entries and drawings of my young restless mind, about music, cinema and you.
I want my life to be filled with passion and long conversations.
I want to build a home that every wall and every corner, is the essence of  me and my life.
I want plants on the window seals, and drawings on the wall, books on the ground, a bed that smells like you, and has eight pillows.
I want to inspire others with my ideas, be it my photos, doodles, or words.
I want collections of lace ribbons, pins and buttons, and vintage spoon rings.
These things sound beautiful to me.

The second thing, is you. I know I want you.
I want you in my life, for always.
I want you at your best, and your worst.
I want your grumpy mornings, and lunch break phone calls.
I want your loud music at inconvenient hours, and you singing in the shower.

So, I'd lay there and wonder how in the world can I make a life plan with only two things.
And then I thought, maybe I only have two things, because they are suppose to combine with the numbers of your life plan.
Maybe.


It was February 29th  when you told me you wanted to live with me.
I thought you were joking, or just saying a want that you never planned on going through.
But no. You meant it.

I couldn't believe it. I still don't, sometimes.
Like, get real, kid.
My cooking is not that good.

I have this thing, it's like, a disease, where whenever something life changing happens to me, I always fast forward and think of the end result.
It doesn't mean I don't enjoy the day by day.
But the end result consumes my mind late at night, or in moments of frustration and panic.
And that's not a bad thing, but it's probably not a good thing either.


So, after you saying you want to live with me, after my first reactions of joy, excitement, and mental planning.
I start focusing on the end result.
Anyone who moves in together, winds up broken up, or married- right?
(That's my end result talking.)
Then it hit me.

We don't have to live by normal views of society.
We could live together for forty years without marrying each other.
We could break up, but still want to live together, as the best friends I know we are.
We could live together and get married in twenty five years.
We could break up, only to have me move down a few blocks away from you, and we'd have lunch, occasionally.

The point is- I am ignoring my end result thinking.
Because even if this never ends, or ends.
Right now, and for a lot of years after that, living with you, creating a life together, is everything I want.

I love you, best friend. I can't wait to see you.

P.S.
I forgot apple cores have star shapes in them. What a pleasant reminder.