Last night was good. I drank a lot of Magic Hat. (Resisting that urge, even as we speak, because I gotta work tonight, but gods damn, I'd forgotten how delicious that beer is.) A friend brought us some wheed. Specifically, some Pineapple Express. It's lovely.
Poppy and my mom sent me cards for Valentine's. Poppy's included a handwritten note. I started reading it in the parking lot while waiting on Kiwi. I got halfway before the tears and sobs stopped me. It took me forever to regain control, and even then, it felt tenuous.
I am here, stuck, and everyone is so far away. My days are full of the acute pain of longing for all these people, all these places that have faded from my life. I try not to dwell on the oceans of silence separating us, but it's all I can hear some days. All I can focus on is how you talk to other people, but not me. You have all the time in the world for other people, but not me. Does my friendship mean so little to you? Did I do something to drive you away? Are you depressed? Is it anxiety that keeps you from ever wanting to talk to me? Have I become someone so repugnant to you that you only message me when it's business related? Because the last time we talked, it was on Aywas, it was because I had bought you something, and it was brief and over before I could even contemplate trying to coax you into conversation. Maybe I should give up. Maybe I shouldn't spare you a second thought.
But most days, you're all I think about. I go into work, shivering in my shorts, and I exchange meaningless greetings with people who couldn't give two shits about me. I punch in. Sneakered feet carry me along these aisles I have come to know as well as my own skin. We pull the pallets out to the floor. It's a mundane ballet, and we all know our parts so well that we might as well be walking around asleep. I go to my aisle. I put in my earbuds and select the music for the next five hours. I cut the plastic wrap on the pallet, and I go away, deep into my head, where no one can ever find me. You're there—a phantom of the past, a love that never quite had a chance, a person...
I never let myself forget that anymore. It's embarrassing how long it took me to realize that the bodies moving around me, the souls buzzing in my ears weren't just distractions and momentary glimpses. They are full, whole beings with lives and thoughts all their own, and I'll probably never really understand what makes them tick and what drives them and what repels them from me. I can speculate for hours, for days, for weeks, but what good is it? I'm never going to guess right.
So, I know. I understand. You have your life, and I have mine. I just wish sometimes yours had room for me like mine does for you. Mostly, though, I'm certain that you are better without me. You must be. Because if you are not happy, then I cannot bear the weight of this. If you are not happy, then you must know that there is one boy, miles and miles away, who dreams of your smile and listens to echoes of your voice just to remember that someone so wonderful was once his best friend.