I miss him.

(Yes, I know this is out of keeping with nearly the last three years of this website, but here I am, relaying feelings having to do with personal relationships. Don't worry, it'll probably still be vague.)

The last week was hard. (Hell, the last few weeks were, I guess -- though I can't say when it first began creeping into the front part of my consciousness that this would have to end sooner or later, maybe it was there all year long.) Not hard in the sense that it was miserable, but hard in that it was really, really nice in some way I can't explain because there are some things you can't really put into words.

Which is not to say things were perfect -- I'm sure they never were. Between passive-agressive tendencies, emotional baggage and all the usual crap people have, there were issues. And more to the point, long-distance sucks and there are lot of reasons not to deal with it. But sitting here alone at 12:45 a.m., writing about this all in the past tense, I'm having a hard time remembering what exactly they were.

I knew this was going to be hard. Break-ups are always hard, especially when it's with someone you still care about, but for stupid, logistical reasons, should not continue to date.

Hard, I expected. This weird feeling that something is being scraped out of my insides leaving me empty, I did not. I did not anticipate being unable to go two consecutive days without crying -- I didn't know I had so many tears. I wasn't planning on my bed feeling so lonely at night.

I am not sure what to say when we talk online now without it turning into a string of "I-miss-you's," which aren't exactly sentiments I ought to be expressing for my own sanity's sake. But when he tells me he's going to bed and to call if I need anything, I know I can't call, even if maybe I'm not entirely OK. Because it used to be that if I wasn't OK, I'd call, mumble some incoherent statement and he'd invite me over and then, even if I couldn't explain things, I felt better.

I can't do that now.

It's hard to go from seeing someone on a daily basis to not at all. I haven't been able to locate the switch in my brain and flip it from "on" to "off" mode. I am pretty sure it's not there.

If it was, I'm not sure I'd have wanted to hit it, or when I would have -- though I guess when we said goodbye at the corner and walked way for good would've been the appropriate time. Except the moment came upon me a little faster than I'd reailzed. It wasn't until we were walking back from lunch on Walnut (my mother's car probably heading over the Walt Whitman Bridge as we went) when he said "Let's go the long way" that I realized that this was actually the end. I felt rushed and unprepared despite all the advance weeks' notice, but maybe if I had known leaving my house that it'd be the last time I left with him, I'd have had more trouble leaving like a normal, sane human being.

At any rate, I hardly returned to it as such.

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