When I see you, I die a little inside because in that moment, something crumbles in me and each piece that breaks away is a shard of something I can't quite place because when I see you I die a little inside, when I see you I feel happy and sad and angry and empty and lost all at the same time. When I look at you and you look at me and words find no place to weave into the silence, I die a little inside.
I don't miss you, I miss having something to latch onto I fiercely tell myself. Maybe it isn't true.When you walk by me there is always this intense ripping sensation within me, like a raging claw scratching me hollow. I am not so used to not having you around, all the time, everyday. I look at the silhouette of lamp posts against the black sky at night when I go home and I think of you. I look at the quivering branches of trees as the bus speeds past and I think of time flashing by like that, with you, thinking of you. I feel the blood rushing under my skin when I challenge myself in a daily obstacle and I think of you. Skim my eyes past a muddied puddle of water, and I think of you; for aren't we bounded by distance, by delusion, by pretending?
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