HELLO!!!
Did you know...
Did you know how much I missed you yesterday?
I missed you yesterday when I was studying. It felt weird doing it alone. Sipping coffee in solitude is great, especially with a cigarette at hand, And reading about politics and philosophy is the best therapy for an itching mind like mine. But Economics...it's hard; it entails a LOT of math and I wish I had your numerical genius to guide me. It may be beyond your freshman pool of knowledge, but your smile is enough to remind me that numbers are not the enemy.
I miss you a lot when I’m busy having fun. I try to pretend that I don’t miss you and that going all Drake-YOLO is just as great and feasible a task even without your presence--just like when I was enjoying the states and was in total denial of my budding feelings for you, but I text you anyway because I can't help it. So what if my phone bill skyrockets to the moon? My strong and in-denial pride can find a way to rationalize that menacing bill and brainwash myself to believe that I don't miss you at all. We're best friends anyway...
I also missed you today…just like when I think about my dead cat whose fraternal twin is blossoming through the most adorable form of stomach adipose in your room right now. My little Socrates is gone, but his very existence in my life is enough to make a lasting mark.
And I'm sure as hell that I'll miss you tomorrow. I’m not exactly sure how I’ll miss you on a day that has yet to come. But I know I will. For certain. It's only a premonition, but a premonition at it's purest and most forceful form. Just like how I knew in my heart and in my feminine gut that I was gonna miss you real bad that day you told me you were gonna go all John Denver on me and leave on a jet plane, without knowing when you'll be back again. I didn’t know for certain how I was gonna miss you—but I knew it was gonna eat me alive like a loch ness monster that I don't really believe is real. I'll miss you tomorrow so bad, real bad I'm actually writing about it (again, like last time)
I miss you. All of you. I want you here beside me. Now. Later. Tomorrow. All day. Everyday. Until the day I get sick of your face—and I don't think that day will ever come at all. Well, unless you kill my cat--but then again I have enough faith in you to trust you'll treat my little rockstars with the same love and affection as their Mommy Cat does.
I miss you so much. Everyday. I itch to see you every time.
Just like a swollen rash. A rash that simply won't go away. A rash that shocked the world for it shouldn't at all belong to someone like me (I may be the clumsy one but Inigo will always be the itching allergy pantal master of the world)
You are the rash I have never been plagued with before, but nonetheless, every time I feel the itch, it makes me smile as it reminds me that I'm human as well, capable of feeling, hurting, missing and loving. And that is a very beautiful thing.
A rash that not even the most expensive brand of imported ointment can cure. I must’ve been bitten by a rare insect, probably a species that can only be found in Bob Marley’s hair—Bob Marley who was long gone, long dead.
Yes my dear, you are that rare.
And I hope you don't take offense to the fact that I compared missing you to a rash.
It's just that I miss you so much that my foolish need to indulge in metaphors has even fallen intro trap.
I'm sorry I just miss you so much
Please don't think I'm a creep.
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