Little Bubbles

March 9, 2010

There are a million little things I wish I could tell you, that only blip up in my mind for a moment.  Capturing them would be like trapping champagne bubbles or snowflakes or sneezes – they’re just too ephemeral and real for words, for expressing.  I’m sitting here in the box as you call it – your room – for what might be the last time.  I’m not sure how to handle it, how to face the writing on the wall, so I wrote a little note on your wall that says “I miss you already.”

It’s woefully inadequate, a travesty really, but it’s all I can think of.  I miss you so much that it feels like my lungs have stopped working – combined with this beautiful cough/chest cold combination, it’s about the worst feeling in the world.  Tonight I set out for the other coast – a guy named Matt and I are going to blitz it to LA, doing who knows what along the way.  I’ve never even met the guy, know damn near nothing about him, and yet we’re about to drive 3000-some miles together from your house, where I’d gladly stay, to my part of the world, where you can’t follow.

It feels like I’m leaving part of myself here, and in a way I am.  Memories, thoughts, smells, moments, bits of writing hidden around your room – it’s not enough, it’s not good enough, it’s a bunch of bullshit!  Yet, it’s all I have, all we have left.  It’s all I can do not to break down and lie on the floor.  Why couldn’t we have lived closer?  If I ever see you again, we’ll have to make sure shit like this doesn’t happen again, because it’s too real, too painful, too much for words.  I’m sorry for dragging it out, it’s just that all the little bubbles keep popping up, and if I don’t let them out I’ll explode.  I know you understand.

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