I was in a shitty restaurant when I first realized I love you. For real, I mean. Not "I love you" in the way that you say to distant relatives before they get on planes or hang up phones or go to run marathons because you don't know, anymore, if hanging up with "goodbye" will be enough.
My grandparents were talking about metal. Metal on black. Metal on black on black jackets, and how the metal was important. I was staring at my phone and waiting for a text that said "My heart is on fire and I hate you but I love you because I don't know what to do anymore," and I nodded at my grandmother's joke that I didn't hear.
I don't know what to do, either. I'm a mess in plaid clothing and if you pulled one eyelash I would fall apart like twine. It would be a lovely mess with a good sense of humor but a mess nonetheless, and no one is interested in messes.
Everything is decorated for Christmas here. I know you're not that far, we can always see the same stars and constellations and be quiet around the same people, but you feel a few million miles away in my head. My head takes five minutes to go from one end to the other, with naked women in-between, but you're somewhere altogether separate. My bones, maybe, or my heart.
It's been quiet in my soul since you left. There haven't been any more sneaky hopes or ideas of very mild grandeur like "Maybe I can buy her a Build-a-Bear."
There have been long silences of the heart and small puffs of redemption when I realize that there are probably worse ways that I could be spending my time when I'm crying, like selling drugs or prostituting myself or both at the same time. There are probably worse human beings that I could be crying over. There are probably worse things I could miss than someone holding me and the feeling of soft skin and someone playing with my hair making me shake out of nervousness.
There are probably other people I could love than you. There are probably other people I could daydream about punching and kissing in the same five minute period. There are other people like you that exist, but I fear that I'm too far gone to reach them. There are other people I could love, but not as much as I love you.
