Sometimes, when i do remember him, he seems more like a dream than a real person. Its grotesque and alternately fascinating to think about it. He was so animated, so alive. We talked forever it seemed. Alot of the times, i have to remind myself not to credit my imagination with that much depth. I have to constantly check to make sure that i really didnt just make him up. Memories are supposed to last for a lifetime, but they are so hard to hold onto. I'm ashamed at myself and at the same time, pretty pissed at how fast and easy it is to outgrow him. It's almost like the whole deal was just perfunctory and this is a race to bury the scar tissue as deep as possible and say goodbye to it as quickly as possible as well.
Life makes it easy to move on, to just go with the flow and let time smooth over the bumps and bruises. Maybe this is a blessing. The chaos of every day takes up your time and leaves its signature everywhere. Its so easy, and so natural. Mourn for a while, and then let the ragged edges, and empty spaces gradually fill up with new, everyday monotony. You are officially preoccupied. The people around you are so quick to go back to routine and make you feel ashamed of your weakness. its easy to ignore the struggle if its invisible. You push the thought out of your mind, you push the only connection you have with him farther and farther away. There really isnt a limit to how many people you can love, but theres probably a logical limit to how many people you can love enough to think about every single day...
And its unfair, that hes not here anymore. Its unfair that he can't compete with the ten thousand things you have to do and the five hundred million new memories you make. Its unfair that you never get anymore calls, or funny text messages to remind you to make time when your weeks been crazy and calling back slipped your mind. Its mostly unfair that you end up spilling your soul to the internet, which you know for a fact is incapable of giving you a hug or picking out a good ben&jerry's flavour to mope the afternoon away with.
All the small things always leave the largest gap. All of a sudden, your email thread looks stupid since you never got a chance to reply to the last message he sent. Your fingers ache to hit the reply button and prove that this is all unreal when you get his reply the next day. You secretly want to try this. You wonder if his email account is still functional...
..And just like that, you're angry. You're angry at the driver, who made you pay for all his reckless choices. You're angry at yourself for being so dependent. You're angry at the whole world, for not understanding, and not being able to help you. You're angry at the stupid email account, for existing in the first place. You're really really angry at him, for leaving. For leaving you alone in this awkward place where you really have no idea what is appropriate and what is not. You're angry at him for being everywhere, and also not being anywhere at all. You stumble across his number in your phone and spend ten minutes just sitting there wishing that this problem was a multiple choice question: a) delete contact b) call number c) throw phone under bus and score new awkward-problem-free phone d) contact psychic/medium through craigslist and express the urgent need to make 'call' to the otherside
instead, you do what you do best, ignore it and move on.
It stings like a bitch.
more like a bitch plus five...
Him leaving hasn't changed who he was. His flaws have not suddenly disappeared and his annoying habits have not instantaneously become adorable. He still seems whole. Thats just how raw it still is.. the feeling that ashton kutcher is going to jump out at you and announce that this is all a practical joke is unshakeable.
What you liked about him remains the same, what you adored about him is now unbearable to think about, why you loved him is still unanswerable...
The things that defined him to you are still distinct, the shuffling walk and childish sense of humour. He went too soon. You know by heart the way he wrapped his voice around your words. Its pretty amazing how many different places he left holes. You can't write poetry at all anymore. Unless a few broken verses can still be considered a poem. Seeing apple headphones dangling out of a back pocket still forces you to blink back tears. Its annoying and comforting at the same time. this being everywhere yet being nowhere business.
Its hard to determine a persons involvement in your life, until you totally disentangle them from it and then proceed to count all the loose ends. Sometimes, its impossible to fit the pieces together anymore. you miss the music. you miss the fading afternoon heat on those concrete steps where he would sit with the guitar. He was so happy and talented, strumming the perfect tune to every single rhyme you wrote. You miss watching the whole band practice, consuming a thousand cups of lemonade while complaining that lemonade was too utterly feminine. You laughed with them, sang along when you could, and loved their music. But now theres no music, and conversation is stifling. You drift, aware that it is the worst possible thing to do..
so you do what you do best, you ignore it
