This? Oh. This.

I miss you. I miss the way your eyebrows frame your face and the way your eyelashes frame your eyes and the way your eyes tell the story even more than your lips do.


I miss you and I wish you were here to remind me of what it is like to belong to something. I wish I could turn to you and show you this poem and you could laugh at the way my sick voice makes me sound like a chain smoker. I want to quote lines from songs only we know to you and for you to laugh at my jokes that are so dumb that they've lost their funny and found different funny.


I want you here even if it is just to tell me that this blog post is cliche and that I ought to write something worthwhile, but this is about you, don't you know?


I meant it when I said those words, even though you turned those words into a Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World/500 Days of Summer reference, but then I just meant the words even more.


Without you, I am somehow simultaneously stuck with writer's block and struck with immense inspiration. You have turned me into whatever the noun form of antithesis is.

Did I mention that I see you everywhere? I do. I see you everywhere. I see you when I sing and I see you in the way that people walk and the way that my teachers pronounce certain words. I see you when I wear that one shirt you like on me and I see you when I see babies with eyes that are as large as dinner plates, just trying to take in some small piece of the world.

You are a part of me now. 

I see you, and, therefore, me -- us -- everywhere.

Though as much as I miss you, do not worry about me, for I am fine. I am fine even with this awful head cold sent from the devil himself and I am fine because you left your thumbprint on my soul and even when I miss you, I can feel the ridges from your fingertips and I know that I am fine. I know that you are fine.

So I leave you with 17 syllables, which is exciting, because our language isn't a syllabic language.

This? This is for you. It's by me. I called it "Coming up Empty":

I tried to write this.

But you exhausted my supply.
So I came up empty.

Cough, cough. More Advil.

All my love,

Addy