Today feels like Monday. Yesterday felt like nothing.
I have the blues.
Are you so tired of my blues?
I’m so tired of them too. I wish they would go away.
I feel like a caged animal at night when the world sleeps. Or like right now. It’s that in-between time. It’s not really night yet but the day is finishing up her business and is about to clock-out. The Gloaming. That’s what I’ve always heard it called. I don’t like The Gloaming. I want to like it because I love the idea of it and I love the way it sounds. The Gloaming. I don’t know why I’m capitalizing it. It just seems like it deserves to be capitalized; like it deserves that kind of respect.
Didn’t Stephen King write a book about The Gloaming? I should Google that. Or DuckDuckGo it?
You know, the first time you mentioned DuckDuckGo, I had no idea what you were talking about. When you went away, I downloaded it just because. It was a thing of you and I was grasping at straws to hold on to anything of you.
Remember how I lamented that I was kind of bummed that this was the only version of me I had to give you because our lives had to run their separate courses before we could meet? About how my face would be changing and evolving pretty soon and filling up with time and wrinkles? Well. I will be even less than I am now when you come back around. I hope you will not be too disappointed in the way age has taken her claim on me. I try to eat my vegetables and exercise and moisturize my face both day and night but I don’t sleep nearly enough and I drink too much red wine too many nights and I worry constantly about everything. My forehead is starting to crease and the bags under my eyes have their own zip code now. Oh, and my hands. Good god, what happens to our hands as we age? I can’t even deal with what they have going on. They need to seriously chill the fuck out, though.
I hope it will all be acceptable to you.
I realize this sounds vain and I don’t really think I’m a vain person. I just hope you come back before the sea of wrinkles overtakes my face and my body because I have a few things I’d really like to show you and do to you while I still can, you know?
I know you know. You want to do them to me, too. Remember how I was gonna coax every last drop of life out of you until there wasn’t any left? Yeah. I still think about that.
I still get weak when I think of you diving under my blanket and scratching all my surfaces, your dishpan hands all over me, your beautiful words falling from your lips as they trace every part of my body.
I still quiver at the thought of you.
The thought of you is everything to me.