I don't wanna be there when you're coming down

postcard from the muse

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I miss you. I miss the way we used to laugh over the strangest things, and how we always got it, or if we didn't, it was close enough that it counted like horseshoes or maybe hand grenades. I don't think I ever told you that you were my best friend for awhile, because it seemed silly and you never needed to know.

And then you broke into a thousand pieces that then fractured further. Everyone else you knew swooped in and picked up the pieces and recreated you in their various images. Content with their job well done, they flittered off to the cosmos and left you wounded and lost. But in the grand redesign, we lost something and nothing was anywhere near the same. Each conversation thereafter was stilted and awkward and I suspect took place in entirely different languages for the both of us. Our strange language of mutual geek is lost forever, and I'm left holding scraps of images of how we used to be. I wonder if you remember or if I imagined an entire friendship with someone who never really existed.

Maybe you've been like this the whole time, maybe I imagined the horseshoes, maybe I created my very own best friend.

Then you'll laugh at something that sent me into a gigglefit and our language flares to life long enough to remind me.

I miss you.
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