Dear Friend,



I miss you a lot tonight. I don't miss you in the sad sort of eating chocolate and sappy movies sort of way, but in the way you miss a friend. I wish that I could call you up on the phone and talk, but things just aren't like that for us any more. They can't be.



I poured a lot of myself into you, into you and me, and it isn't there any more. It's funny how when you don't have something anymore, you're suddenly shocked that you don't have it, but how quickly you adjust. And then the shocking part becomes realizing that you survived. You are surviving without that thing that you thought you could do alone. It's funny that my life sometimes feels less substantial now. I can completely ignore the voice telling me to be quiet and be still because it isn't personified by anyone. It's guilt free though, this gadding about town and spreading myself to thin. I feel confident. I feel capable. I feel completely vulnerable.



Survival is the only instinct we have. I shoot to kill when I speak. And I killed something that shouldn't be dead, but I put it, us, out of misery. Sometimes, even though I'm mostly grown, all I can do is throw a fit. I huff and I puff and I stamp the house down and it makes me feel better. And it makes me look selfish and childish. If I could control the bull in the china shop part of me, maybe, maybe....But if I didn't have that childlike faith and hope that the silver lining is going to pull through, there might not have been as many songs about rainbows as there were.



I'm mixing my metaphors and sending this into space tonight, hoping that you know what this all means. I'm walking in the sun and I'm walking in the swamp and I'm not holding anyone's hand but my own. And we're both going to be just fine.