07/21/2012

dear eric,

i can’t go into the bedroom. i leave the door closed always, afraid to see the emptiness. the lack of a bed, the dust outlining where the bed was. i walked in tonight, crawled to the spot on the floor that marks where you would sleep and put my hand on what i wish was your heart, the way i always would when you were sleeping.

there’s a void bigger than not having you around. it’s missing someone who was, simply, me.

i hardly recognized your voice on the phone. so serious and heavy. i told you that there are ups and downs and i know i’m doing the right thing by closing you out of my life and not allowing myself into yours, but i hate it. i hate it so much.

i think about everything in what seems to be a constant surge of memories in my brain. i like work because i don’t have time. there are people occupying my time and space, but those people aren’t you. there is no one like you.

i am so angry and sad and frustrated and peaceful and lost. i don’t have you to bounce any of this off of. it can’t be you.

in this moment i wish i could curl up to you and remind both of us of what we had. i wish i could run my fingers across your face, your lips. i wish i could feel your heart beat or the weight of your body leaning against mine. the heaviness of your breathing.

i won’t stick with you the way i’ve stuck with others in the past. i could hear it in your voice today and while i should’ve been happy about it, it scared me. it’s selfish of me.

fuck.