when you were a star falling down somewhere next to me

so here i am, returned or dropped back to where i was, but not really, no, not so much.

i find myself sitting here, no longer really existing within each day but merely doing what temporarily distracts me and makes me happy, merely whiling away the days until i see you again, until i am home again. currently, it is reading. i am just reading to read and reading to pass the time. in everything i read, you are there. i read amerika by kafka and picture you reading the same words; i read cortazar and imagine you smiling at the same, strange, enigmatic stories; i read hemingway and think of how much you love him and his books and stories. and hence, somehow unsurprisingly, you are not really as far away as i would think; you feel close, nearby, within arm's and ear's reach. i touch last week and there you are, still lying languidly on my bed, giving me those eyes i cannot say no to. and i realize we have reinvented anatomy and proven the credibility of metaphysics in that my heart can survive outside of my body because it is with you, and yours with me.

and when i look at someone or something or nowhere, even, i'm really looking for and into your eyes, you know.

and every time i write something down i think 'now how i can i put her into this'. not for the sake of the story, but just as a way of showing you my love as much as i can and assuring you that you are still everywhere with me.

and when there is nothing else or i am tired of reading or writing i look at my poster of the eiffel tower above my desk and see you and i standing there by the merry-go-round in its shadow, holding hands and looking up, blinking snow out of our eyes. and i turn to kiss you and you turn to me at the exact same time and then everything is wonderful and bright and, most important, okay. everything is okay.