30 Days Without Him

Day 2

Guess that the writing to you thing is something that is going to happen more often than not. But I know that you will not mind at all, since according to you my rambling is cute. Yet, it seems like nobody agrees with you. Everybody looks at me like they want me to shut up, or maybe that is just my imagination.

I don't care whether it is my imagination or not. The only thing that matters to me is that they don't look at me the way you used to. Funny how we don't know what we had until it's gone. I would give anything for you to look at me one more time.

The way your eyes twinkled with amusement when I used to say something stupid, or how you used to furrow your eyebrows when I used to go on and on about my day and you would try and catch up with my train of thought, or that hazy face you made when I took you by surprise and kissed you.

Who would have thought one look was so important?

I spoke to your sister today, she is probably in denial seeing as she is smiling and laughing a lot. But then again, who am I to judge? I am here writing you another letter that you will never read with an empty bottle of vodka in my hands.

I know you hate it when I drink, hell even I hate it. But the burning in my throught makes the burning in my heart seem less than it is. I will probably wake up with a killer hangover, but I prefer dealing with it than dealing with the fact that you are gone.

Do you remember when we first met? It seems ages ago, but I would give anything to go back in time and stop it in the part I see you for the first time looking all cute with your family. Yes, I do remember how you hate being cute, how you think it takes away your masculinity. But then again I am drinking, so who cares if I do another thing you hate? Cute, cute, cute. That is what you are.

But God, how I love you and all of your cuteness. Nobody compares to it. I also do realize that this letter is making no god damn sense, but when do I?

I have never used so many "buts" in one night alone, I guess you leaving turned me into a paradox, or maybe just made the paradox that I am come out. I have always been searching for happiness, but here I am thinking of you, a topic that makes me sad. I hate writing, and yet here I am writing as if my life depended on it. I strive for attention, but cower away when I do recieve it (which is happening a lot to me now that you are gone- people asking if I'm okay, if I need anything and bla bla bla). I am an independent person, and here I am depending on you so much. I am a contradiction in conflict, and you managed to decifer me.

I can't help but wonder if somebody will also decifer me. And maybe, that person could help fill up the hole that you left.