basically, it's like this This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

October 11, 2009
Basically it's like this.

I'm feeling crazy right now. Which is why I'm sitting on the porch, wrapped in the blue blanket that smells like you, writing a letter.

It's really cold. But then again, you probably already know that. It's always cold here at night. So freaking cold.

I'm thinking about you. Aren't you shocked? I only think about you practically all the time, and when I'm not thinking about you, I'm thinking about what I could have done to make you still be here, so that I wouldn't have to think about you so much.

But see, even if you were here, I would still think about you. Because that's what I do.

I think.

I'm always thinking now.

You know, people say that when something is lost, it can be found again. They say that there's always a tiny chance that you'll find whatever it is you misplaced.

Eyeglasses, maybe. Or your keys. Or the dog's leash. But how do you find a person?

How do I find you?

It's not like I can just tip the odds back in our favor again. It's not like I can just close my eyes and think really hard, so that when I open them everything will be the way it used to be. I can't say, I want everything to just rewind. Right. About. Now.

That's not the way it works. And I find this personally egregious, since I happen to have lost my dog walker. Now, I have to get up early and take Estelle and Enzo out on their walk. And it sucks. It sucks because I walk outside wrapped in the blanket the color of summer skies, with Estelle and Enzo running ragged lines down the street, and tears leaving gray streaks down my face. Sometimes, people stop and stare at me, with that peculiar look on their faces, bouncing between sadness and pity.

Oh, just look at her.

God, I hope we never turn out like her.

I hope they never turn out like me, either. Because it's not like I can replace my dog walker with someone else. I didn't just lose my dog walker or my partner in crime.

I lost my best friend.

Which is why I'm sitting on the porch, rolled up in the blanket I'll never wash, writing a letter that I'll never send, bemoaning promises you never kept, wishing on stars I can't even see. Because somewhere, deep inside my head, there's a tiny chance I'll find whatever it is I'm looking for.

Basically, it's like this.

I miss you.

Aren't you shocked?





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