It's tough, I guess... I keep feeling better and then... not... again. My main endeavor just now is to distract myself. Throw myself into something. And surround myself with the miscellany of your presence--drawings, forgotten objects, pictures, words. The trouble, actually, doesn't come from losing the sensation of you being here. Oh, no. The trouble is that I keep on forgetting that you're not, because the fact that you're not is so... well, wrong to my subconscious that I just keep on rejecting it. Then I have to remember all over again when I enter my bedroom, unthinking, and see that bare space of sunlight, with no you curling up in it like a cat. Have to remember again as I'm going out the door that I needn't look for you or ask you if you want to come with me, have to remember when I look at the white-board that you haven't been in to scrawl something new in the corner.
Y'alls want to see pathetic? Here it is, in the flesh: I went into the kitchen today, to make a quesadilla, and discovered a pitiful amount of cheese left. I was irritated for a moment, and then, remembering who it was who ate most of my cheese, wanted to cuddle the goddamned sad hunk of dairy! I swear to fucking god, this is ridiculous.

But all this pain will pass in time. That I know. What distresses me is the change in myself... while you were here, you know that I looked different--everyone saw it. So different it was like a new face, a beautiful, happy face on my body. But you haven't been gone two full days yet and already the change has slipped away, and my face is the same as it ever was... nothing really wrong with it, but that young, bright beauty is gone. The change faded so fast without you here to maintain it.
So I'll work harder at distracting myself here... maybe get something creative done in spite of myself. The only thing that will really bring the sun out on this face again is having you back. My body, my mind, every part of me has made its decision that it needs you, and will accept no substitutes. And so, like the acts of will I forced upon myself as a child, carrying or climbing or pushing beyond my strength just to see if I could, I'll wait. I'll endure. Oh, come home, darling... come home and talk to me, and then come here, come to this home, here in my arms, and never leave me again.

< / pathetic girl>

Judged: Good
QOR:
12% evil, 88% good.

Labels: Art, Brendon, Love, Missing You