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Am I really in my right mind?

Yearning isn’t the easiest game to play, yet I find myself tangled up in webs unseen and unexpected in my search for you. Being yours, I must say, has put me through tunnels I wouldn’t want to be caught dead in cos of another. I understand not why we have to suffer the pain of absence and distance and silence when we could find other ways to be together, near each other and with each other.

Does it make me selfish to wish I was all up in your space at the moment? Getting in the way of whatever project you’ve chosen for the night, pestering you with questions I know nobody would love to find answers to, but their ridiculousness makes you laugh and flick my forehead out of concern for what rattles around inside the shell I call a skull. Is it fair if I wish you weren’t wherever you are currently? Do I get to wish for you over and over again? Am I allowed to? Would you come running if I called out to you? Would you listen out for my voice if I cry out for you?

See, I want you back here wimme.

Even if it’s in shared silence or in the noise that fills up the pauses we leave because we’re too caught up in each other to bother with anything else. I carry you with me everywhere I go. Your voice has slowly but surely replaced one of the voices I avoid listening to, the smell of you hits me out of nowhere, and I am stuck chasing a ghost. The absence of your touch irritates me beyond measure, so I end up wrapped in your clothes to make up for it. Would you understand the level of this obsession if I explained it to you? Would it convince you that living in my skin would be the best way to have you to myself now and forever? Would you accept my offer to burrow into your skin and stay there now and forever?

I miss you, you gremlin. Come back to me. Come be with me. Come stay wimme. Come convince me I really am not as alone as I think I am. Come push away the weird silence that is spreading inside me. Might not be healthy, but I need you once again like I do every time. To help repress the annoying blankness and sadness and darkness that fills me up like bad smoke. I fear once again that I am even closer to being harmful to myself than before. And you? You make it easier to breathe; you make it easier to convince myself that, “Hey, you really shouldn’t be thinking about killing yourself, yunno?”

I miss you, you loveable brat. Why in the name of Zechariah’s saggy jowls are you a million freakin’ miles away? What in the name of what makes you comfortable with being away from me for so long?

(It has only been a day and a half. They’ll be around today. I am just pissy.)

Signed,

A🖤💜