Human interaction is time-consuming.
I remember talking to you before my first day of work in NYC. The bookshelf divider between the two beds, how I put little trinkets wherever I could, and kept Ice Bat by my side, hoping that Miriam’s bed would start to feel a little more comfortable (it never did).
I remember calling you when I got lost on the subway, crying into your ear receiver, wishing I could just come home (I did).
Your only answer was, “Sounds like a good idea.”
When I want things really badly, I start to dream about them. And when you were sick, I dreamt about us hanging out again. Just to be able to receive the text:
“I’m ready 🙂”
The layers of my skin felt numb today, and my heart didn’t sink at the constant reminders I have to give myself regarding you.
But I can feel it starting to sink with every second I take to pause—just another story of a captain who couldn’t save his ship.
You were the one who introduced me to Bukowski.
You were the only one who made me want to keep writing—just so every night I could call and read it to you.
Remember all our late-night phone calls when we first met?
The first time I ever talked to you on the phone, you were crying because you got into an argument with your mom. You were embarrassed and wanted to get off the phone, but I wouldn’t let you. I was determined to make you laugh before you left the telephone lines.
I love you so much, you know.
August 27, 2008 at 4:35 PM
You left me a comment:
“I’m listening to The Beatles and I miss you.”
April 10, 2009 at 10:17 PM
I’m thinking about the rest of my life and I miss you.
termites of the page 