On Monday, January 19, 2009
I wrote this entry on this blog:


"Dear Friend 010.

Some days I wake up and I could kill you.
I hate you for all of the little things,
I hate you for the things you don't hate,
(I hate you for not hating Sarah Palin,
or at least recognizing how ridiculous she is.)
I want to hit you, I want to rid myself entirely of you
and any influence of you.

Some days I wake up and I feel so sorry.
I'm sorry for the stupid things I worried about,
the stupid things I said, the little things I got angry with you about.
I'm worried about you, I'm curious about your future plans.
Taking myself completely out of the equation,
I hope things go well for you.
I feel awful for anything I've done to make things hard on you.
I'm unhappy with the way I can't even talk to you anymore,
nor you talk to me.

Some days I wake up, and toss the blankets from my body.
Your flannel shirt flows over me,
and I'm more happy to have known you than I thought possible.
Little things remind me of you, someone mentions a random date,
and it's your birthday. Or hearing about candles. Little things.
I so obviously miss you, and I'm still trying to hide it.

I don't know if this is grief or heartbreak. "



It is so strange that two years (and a few days) later I feel exactly this same way about exactly this same person and situation. Despite all of the progress I have made as a person, the experiences and knowledge I have gained, the growth I have been so proud to push myself through I am still up at night missing this person and remembering. Thinking of how he smelled and smiled. It has gotten a little bit easier but it's nothing close to easy.

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