Pages from a Notebook

I can’t sleep.  Again.  So I picked up the pen tonight to write a letter to you, just like I do every night.  Letters that I know you will never read.

I just wanted to say that I miss you.  I know we didn’t always get along, but to me you were the one stable thing in my life.  I could always count on you to pick me up and dust me off and kiss me when I needed it and let me know that everything is going to be alright; it’s okay, you’re here now.

Except you’re not here.  You’re gone.  You’re gone and I’m alone and I don’t like it one little bit.  You make me feel so good, and when you’re not around, I feel….incomplete.  Lonely.  Like there’s something missing.  You’re like a drug – harmful, but one I can’t live without.  Why can’t you be something else?  Why can’t you be the sun and the rain to me?  Something pure and wholesome, something I need but something that won’t damage my psyche?

I have no idea what’s wrong with me. 

Maybe it’s because today is supposed to be the most romantic day of the year.  All the flowers and the candy, that whole bit. 

I have no idea what’s wrong with me.  Why in the hell do I miss you so much?  You were a regular collection of paradoxes.  You would just as soon stab me as kiss me.  You were so quick to say something cruel but you sang to me and made me feel special.

I never know what you want of me.  I know you well enough to know the difference between what you say and what you mean.  You can’t hide it from me, and I never could hide it from you.  That’s why there was so much conflict and chaos and turmoil and love and hugs and all that fluffy stuff that everyone secretly loves, no matter what they say.  We never could get one without the other.  I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you.  And here I am, spilling my guts on the ripped up pages of an old spiral notebook, writing a letter that nobody will ever see because as soon as I’m done I’ll burn it, just like I burned all the others.  Maybe my words will reach you somehow.  Osmosis, maybe?

So now that I’ve said all of this, I think I’ll turn out the light and try to sleep now.  Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.  It depends on how long your face floats in my mind and your voice resounds in my ear.  Maybe in another life we can be together again.  Maybe then, it will be everything we always hoped it could be.