Loss

AN: I wrote this when I was upset with my best friend.

Living without him is a little like living without a kidney. It can be done. It just isn’t as comfortable. And there’s always this emptiness inside of you. There’s also this feeling, nagging at the back of your mind that you’ve lost something. Sort of like walking out of the house, when you know that you’re forgetting something, but you just can’t put your finger on what it is.

I know what I’m missing though. I know because I see his face on every wall of this house. I hear his voice every time I turn around. He’s everywhere. And it’s not just in this house. He’s wherever I go, because he’s part of me.

He’s in my blood. He’s in my skin. He’s the glint in my eye. He’s the thudding my heart. He’s the way I wake up in the middle of the night from a night mare. He’s everything.

But he would tell you that he is nothing. Because he has tried to become nothing to me. That’s impossible though. For him to become nothing, I would have to become nothing. We would both have to crumble into ashes.

And even then, I know that our ashes would mix until you could not separate us.

The more he tries to pull himself away from me, the closer he becomes. It’s like quicksand. The more you struggle, the deeper you sink. I have to confess that part of the reason is probably that he wants to leave me.

He makes himself a challenge. I am both amused and heartbroken that after all these years; he still hasn’t figured me out. He still doesn’t know that all he has to do is make himself available. He has to let me know that he wants me more than I want him, and then it’s just not as interesting anymore.

However, I think we both know that he’s a little different. He’s a challenge without even trying to be. The challenge is in the cigarettes he smokes, in the way that his eyes glaze over and I know he’s writing something inside of his head. The challenge is in that cologne he wears, the one that I can’t find anywhere, no matter how hard I look.

He just can’t admit that he’s part of me. He became part of me when I first laid eyes on him. I guess I’m sorry that he doesn’t… doesn’t seem to want me.

Oh God.

That thought just breaks my heart. The thought that he might not want me. The thought that… that…

I know I’m not good enough for him. I never will be, no matter what I do. Even though I know that he’s a very pretty thing that I would break right away, I still want him. And I swear that I would do my best to keep him whole.

He’s a bit chipped now, a little scratched, but I don’t care. That makes him more valuable. It means he’s got a story to tell. It just makes him more exotic, more precious to me.

He is inside of me. He has become me, whether or not he likes to admit it. I made it obvious when I put his tattoos on my skin. I wanted to look in the mirror and not have to see just a reflection of myself.

I wanted to see what he saw. I wanted to run my fingers down my flesh and feel what he felt. I wanted the pain that he felt when he got the tattoos in the first place.

I wanted it all.

But most of all, I want him. I have him. He is mine. He just doesn’t seem to understand that.

I know he will soon though. You can’t escape destiny.