It's quarter to ten on a Monday night; I'm sitting on my friends' bed in their house in their state, working on some spreadsheet or the other until I am suddenly not there anymore. I'm in a wooden chair on an outdoors patio in front of the Pixies concert in Vancouver. I can see the lines of faces like they are here in front of me, and I can see his face right there, across the table, so close I can touch it if I close my eyes and hold out my hand.
The air is thick with the scent of his colonge, and heavy with the weight of the Marlboro red smoldering between his perfectly manicured, uncalloused fingers. The juxtaposition of the softness of his outside against the hardness of his insides always leaves me a little disoriented, even in my imagination, where he often times appears with neither cause nor warning. I am always sitting close enough to him that I can feel him without touching him, that I can drown myself in the scent of him, of us.
I miss us, and I can't always realize why, so I thought I should write it out while I can see pieces of it. That night at the Pixies show, or the night screaming in the plastic seats at the Avalanche game, or the nights in the Barnes and Noble when he would put his hand on the small of my back and nudge me gently through the crowd - those are the moments in which I feel most whole and least alone. We, he and I, have always been, as long as I have been able to think in terms of me.
Most of my life with him was alone, waiting, worrying, wanting, but when he was there, even though it was almost never romantic or tender or intimate, there was always the comfort of we, of us, of being with the one thing in life that completed me, for better or ill.
I know the scent of his skin like I know the feel of my own fingerprints. I know the gait of his walk and the sound of his breath and I knew that I would always and forever have a place by his side, a place no one else on this earth would ever have. He was nothing I needed to learn, but always had something for me to discover. I know him like he is myself and now he is gone and I feel like I am losing the half of my own heart. I feel lost all of the time. I have no idea where I will belong. It makes me dizzy, looking around and over and back again for something that looks like him or smells like him or tastes like him but isn't him, and sometimes it seems so futile that I just want to sit down until it all just stops.