Missing
There’s a part of me that’s far away, and distant, and I can hear its heart beating.
Is it me? Or is it someone else? Could it be both?
If I don’t think about it, it’s just a dull ache. I can get on with my life and do my job or enjoy time with my friends and it’s like nothing’s the matter. But then I think about it again… And I know you may think me callous to attempt to put it to the back of my mind, but when it’s in the front of my mind, it’s pain. Pain that she’s not here.
It burns in my chest and rolls in my stomach, and it makes me nauseous. Not mentally, I am glad of the feeling for what it represents. Not emotionally, for I love the cause. But physically, a backlash from the hurt of being apart, I feel like I need to be sick.
In the end, it seems a simple thing. I’ve been alone before. I spent some of my best times alone, I spent some of my best nights out or in without any designated company. But now I know her, now I’m without her… alone isn’t enough. Alone always used to be enough.
When I was a kid, sure I enjoyed playing with friends, but I was just as at home on my own. I had my own toys, and I had my imagination. That was enough to power any entertainment I wanted. Optimus Prime hanging out with Spawn was always a fun one.
Thinking about it, I never had a figure to represent the villains. It was always difficult to the point of impossibility to play with two properly pose-able toys at once, and for a struggle you really do need both participants partaking in the combat. So even my villainous action figures were transferred to anti-heroic status and pitted against the monsters from my mind. I guess that’s also from the same place as some of the things I’m writing now. Optimus Prime, Spider-man and Venom, up against something that at the time was just from my head, but looking back was really a mechanical Cthulhu.
That’s well off-topic. My point was I never needed to hang out with other people, especially with the advent of video games, but before them books would also be (and still are) enough. I could deal with being alone, because my own mind was a playground of marvels.
But now? I’m missing a piece. My imagination still works, better than ever I hope, but it’s not enough for me anymore. I need the other piece of me. I need to stop feeling sick. I need to reach out and touch her hand and hold her. And when that happens, I’m complete. I’m not sick anymore. I’m safe and nothing else about the world matters, not a thing. Maybe that’s selfish. But I don’t get to be complete often. I want to relish it while I can.
Kedge
Notations & Nihilism 