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a problem of scale

January 13, 2004

i know that it doesn't make any sense. how hard this is for me. it's not so different now, really. it wasn't that much before. not really. how things can feel like less than nothing, and then it makes the something look like everything. things are fluid, sure, and not forever. i know this. i know too that each day is a struggle to not sink. this is not me being melodramatic. this is simply how it feels right now.

and when each day is a struggle not to sink, then a period of months becomes incomprehensible. like winning a billion dollar lottery. a problem of scale, what does it even mean? it's too much and so we think of it in small pieces. think of not calling him today. this week. think of which friends to see, which books to read, class starts thursday, then seeing that show. we think of the dinners and the coffee and the work and the flow of people coming and going and saying "i'm sorry. but this will be okay. you are doing the right thing. you are strong."

but i am not strong really because i think of him all the time. that part i can't change yet. did you know that i can conduct entire conversations with only half attention? the rest is with him, like reaching for something that's not there. like how my feet reach for the things that used to be under my desk, the things i used to put my feet on when i would lean back in my chair.

i moved those things, i cleaned up and i'm slowly working my way through everything i own. i am purging. like cleaning out my cluttered desk or closet will somehow help my cluttered mind and heart that keeps reaching for someone who isn't there anymore and maybe never really was. now when i lean back in my chair, my feet reach out and are surprised to find empty air. my heart is that way too.

i want to know where he is. i want to know what he feels. i want to know that he is sad and lonely for me. this is not because i wish him sad feelings, but because i want him to feel the same things that i feel. because then i could feel close to him for a second. my connection with him was addictive and it will take time for me to not feel its absence like a cellular, chemical need. i am in recovery.

i am waiting for the day when i hear a skateboard moving down the street and i don't feel that thump inside and look casually around to see if it's him. when i don't scan the faces in the coffeeshop every goddamn time i walk to my front door. when i don't feel that small rush of hope when my phone rings or an email arrives.

i am waiting for the day when i am finally finally done waiting.