the adjustment period: i've had my heart broken before, i know the drill. this is the boring part nobody likes, where i feel empty with the dull absence of him, and everything is fucked up for awhile. i feel like something from rothko's imagination -- everywhere all at once and sectioned off into blurred pieces over the loss of something that made life feel more tremendous. nothing will quench the thirst for what's gone yet and not to be dramatic here, but there have been moments in the past week where it felt like the missing was killing me; moments when my body feels like nothing more than an uncomfortable point of reference for where his body is not. and it's only been one tiny week of molasses hours. one week of restless days, sleepless nights, missed meals, playing songs to break a heart to, being stoned all the time. one week of bursting into tears the instant i'm alone, or somebody asks me how i am doing or when i recollect all the things i gained and lost in order to gain and lose this, or i re-remember that the person i want already wants somebody else and i feel like nothing [or angry, insecure, jealous, foolish], like i'm suffocating in the whirlwinds of settling dust and all the suffering i maybe should have saved for somebody twice his merit.
i see us now like A and B, like pushpins on a map, unfeeling bodies of land, our hands are strange islands tripping over what's allowed and what's not anymore. the way the blinking water tower by his apartment building beacons a steady thumping in the back of my head, it exhausts me. like some red, pulsating reminder of a distance i need to learn to bear the weight off. swollen eyes following the streets and bridges, connecting the city lights like a giant lite-brite board, measuring all the slowest and fastest ways to you(A) from me(B) and back again. it becomes math and i scan the trees that outnumber the rows of houses and lampposts from my new, nineteenth floor apartment and for a second i can breathe as my thoughts get lost in something resembling the beauty of being alive. then it hits me, the way you yelled that none of it mattered at all that one time and something inside of me rips apart with the saddest kind of agreement and i realize i will never, ever possess the language to express how much i'm going to miss you.