In short, I miss you.
by Wildfire
(268 views) - 11/8/04
(recorded 11/8/04 @ 12:33:16 AM)
"What are you up to today?"
"Nothing yet. Want to come over?"
"Yeah, I'm going to take a shower and I'll be over in a few minutes."
"Okay, see you in a few. Love you."
"Love you too. Bye."

Did you know that most of those conversations we had, I always would sit on that little wall in front of the door or on the couch, waiting for a glimpse of Katy? I know that a lot of the time I was in different rooms when you came in, but that doesn't mean that I didn't sit there and guess how long your shower would take, add the driving time on, and manage to be off that wall by the time you pulled into the cul-de-sac.

I don't know what possessed me to run off and pretend that I wasn't waiting for you. Maybe I didn't want to seem needy and pathetic. Truth is, I love watching you pull into the street and park on that little curve in front of the house.

You walk up the sidewalk and peer through the side window to see if anyone is around, or maybe you were just making sure no one was running around naked inside, but you open the door and call out softly, "Hello?"
And I peek my head out from inside the bathroom and smile at you, like I've done hundreds of times over the two years, and you smile back at me as you close the door behind you.

I come out in my tshirt and jeans, slip on my flip flops and you look at me questioningly.
"I figured we could run to Wendy's and then watch Friends." this is a very common answer, it's not like you weren't expecting it. "Do you want to drive Stella?"
"No, you go ahead." you humor me.

We jump into the truck and drive to Wendy's, both of us getting what we always have gotten. As I speed home (I can't help it), you hand me two french fries at a time to eat in order to pacify me until we get home.

Our bursting through the front door is something my family has come to expect. You are my constant sidekick, someone that, if you're not with me when I come home they ask, "Oh, where's Berto?"
The couch will forever be sunken in the middle from our hours of Friends. We sat on the same couch for two years... and that spot on the table will forever be ours from all of our Wendy's meals. Surely we financed half of the salaries at the Val Vista and Warner restaurant.

I remember in the summer; you'd come to pick me up as the sun rose and the crisp dawn breeze whisked through the car as we drove to Mesquite. Revis was in the CD player and I would sing along as loud as humanly possible. You didn't join me at first - you learned eventually though. I would grin and look over at you as we sang the whole way to school. I sat through Thiele's economics lectures, waiting for lunch, then I sat through Government, counting off the minutes on the clock until it was time for you to drive me home. And we sang again.

I simply cannot believe how many hours of my life I've spent with you. Falling asleep on my bed, napping on the couch, watching Friends as if there was no tomorrow, lazing in the pool and watching our skin wrinkle, sitting in the darkness and crying, laughing in the sunlight, arguing over whose turn it was to pick the seats in the movie theatre, my yelling at you for not letting me pay for dinner, laughing hysterically as we both try to fit under the same tiny blanket, brushing sand out of our hair in the hotel bathroom, mixing drinks, passing cigars, or maybe just sitting. Staring at you. Watching you watch me.
I remember that every time my parents would take us someplace nicer, I would dress up for no reason other than the look in your eyes when you saw me. I watched as you mentally peeled my clothes back ... and then your eyes snapped to attention as you noticed that I was carefully studying you too. You'd grin sheepishly and I'd laugh. My mother never really understood why, and I never volunteered it.

I have this amazing feature in my brain and I know you have it too. It really hurts me to use it, but on nights like tonight I honestly can't help but employ it. It's my fast-forward button.
How is it that I can see us in an apartment together? Decorating and painting and finding old furniture that's cheap... driving out to some obscure place to look at a puppy from the newspaper, coming home with a little mix and making it a place to sleep in our bedroom... We'll argue over what to name it but eventually we will both come up with the same name and it'll be perfect. How about Avalon?
I watch as older versions of you and I put a bid in on our first small house. We've been saving, we can't wait to have our own place. The puppy has grown into a medium sized German mix, you love to wrestle with her on the floor of our new living room as I double over in laughter while I unpack the dishes in the kitchen. I can see as you put together the baby's crib in his little room. I'm carefully painting around you as you work; I've almost got his cowboy mural complete. You smile up at me as I reach for your hand for help down the ladder, gently holding my arm as I step down. You bend over and kiss the slight swell around my middle, hidden by a flowy blouse and my cheeks flush.

Surely you can see why this hurts. It hurts because I'm here without you, it hurts because you're there without me, and it hurts because these visions that tease me are not going to happen anytime soon.
It's nights like these that I wish my fast-forward button would work in real life instead of just in my mind.

In short, I miss you. And I'm thinking of you.
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