I've been avoiding this. Writing about you that is. I've been avoiding it because I don't know what to say. I don't know how to explain the complexities that were us and I don't know how to use the word us without making it sound like we were a pair because we weren't and I don't know how to talk about how much I love you without making it sound like I'm in love with you. I have this urge to write about the way your eyes burned through my soul and the way you stuttered when you were drunk and the way I was the only person you ever told about your night terrors but I can't do that without making it seem like more than it really is. Still to this day when that song comes on in the car I turn it up and roll the windows down and sing the lyrics the way you used to and still to this day there are certain things I don't do or say because I know it triggered the flashbacks in your mind but you aren't here so it doesn't matter it's just me not letting myself believe you're really so far away. I grew to discover parts of you you hadn't even discovered yourself and I opened doors within your heart that someone else had locked and hidden away the key. I trusted you. No, I still trust you. You're just so far away and all I can think about is how one hug from you would make all of this insanity evaporate for a few seconds but I can't just get on a plane and leave just to be near you and as I'm typing that I realize it's false because that's exactly what you did with me and I wouldn't even be here if you hadn't. I love you and I love us but I can't keep calling you at three am and you can't keep calling me at midnight so we can cry on the phone together unless there's some way for me to be in your arms again with you whispering how it's okay in my ear and unless you'll be here to stop me from punching a hole in a wall when I'm angry by showing me the scars on your own knuckles from doing the same, unless these things can happen I have to stop trying to ignore my urge to write about you and I have to find a way to stop standing at the top of the staircase expecting you to be there waiting for me every single morning because all I'm doing is killing myself by waiting for you one piece at a time. C.a.l