space

I miss you, even though I'm not licensed to, even though I have no reason to. But I do. Even with you here sitting right next to me I feel this deep wide crevasse between us, frozen since I last saw you, which, frankly, wasn't all that long ago. Maybe it has nothing to do with time then, or maybe just more to do with the time we have spent together before that.

I miss you, and god knows I don't want to but I do. It almost feels wrong to miss you, like I'm not entitled to because, well, you don't really care, do you? I read meaning into little things, like a touch on the shoulder or a friendly smile, more than there would ever be and yet it all seems so real, but I know it's not anywhere near that in your head. Or is it? in my un-ending self-torture I keep ending my thoughts with an open ended question. why not?

I miss you, because I feel like something's missing, like something's not quite right, but I tell myself I shouldn't because I'll have to get used to this. A friend once said that one needs to be self-reliant because in the end we're always left on our own. Lonely or alone it's all the same and I know, I know, it's true, but sometimes I'm just tired of that and I wish that when I woke up from a bad dream I would find someone next to me instead of a dark cold empty space.

I miss you and us and all the little pieces in between that I fill in by myself, grand narratives that I write for us but never to be made real. Like this little corner in cyberspace, encoded in ones and zeros, always digitized, never escaping the abstract or crossing the bridge between the words and the world. I sit here asking myself why I am so much better with conversations in my head; why is it that when the time comes to carrying it out with another person I am so incapable? why do I always come up with better lines after the conversation is over and end up having to beat myself over the head until I can't imagine your voice anymore and stop this?