At first, I took you in small doses. I remained completely oblivious to your differential existence as I dove in deeper into the cloudy being I justified to be you. Exhausted and medicated as hell, I struggled to fabricate your being. I’ve built your subtle smirk, the slight limp when you run, your god-awful vision, and the way you jump when touched on the base of your neck. I meticulously lined out the pieces— I just have to find the puzzle.
But, god, am I ready for you. I have been waiting and waiting for someone, anyone, with your sense of humor or interest in ridiculous conspiracy theories. I have been so damn willing to accept just one quality similar to any of yours just to feel something that could allude to solidarity. It was stupid and hopeful, but there’s something letting me know that you will come to me. I’ll wait and search for the clues, but you come find me in all of my damn shame and I will be the girl who stayed.
I imagined it would be your favorite place in the world. As I crossed the threshold of the beloved cafe where I drank my first cup of coffee as a child, I could sense your formidable presence. Surrounded by the walls that held first experiences— a sip of that blessed coffee, the former half of Jane Eyre, and the dreadful kiss that left me with a cold sore on the left side of my bottom lip— I could feel the tension resolve beneath my skin. I perused the shop and peeked into the dark corners, longing to find you buried in a book or diving into a pumpkin muffin. I took pieces of those I did see and tried to create your face with the slopes of their noses, curves of their smiles, and colours of their eyes to define who you are. I know that my insufferable innocence is what’s keeping us apart, but I truly am learning. We can never meet if I intend for it to happen, but it is nearly impossible to abandon all thoughts of you.
I hear your musings at night as you furiously pound your keyboard, hoping to convey the scattered dreams that haunt you so frequently. I can see the outline of your frigid hands as they anticipate a page turn in my favorite novel. I need to banish the insurmountable apparitions, but I can feel them hunting for me. Everything is you; the shadow on the wall, the creaking on the stairs, the warmth on my pillow. You are the gravity allowing me to stay surfaced and I refuse to loosen my grasp. Undoubtedly, I will never illuminate your mind as you do to my sky.