A Study of Surrealism

I want to blame the exhaustion, but the truth of the matter is that I'm crying like a child because I'll miss you and everything is going to fall apart.

I've missed people before. The way that a finger misses the weight of a gaudy ring by keeping a phantom buzz on the skin.
But I'm missing you in a different way. The way my grandmother's boyfriend misses the use of his arms. You don't realize how absolutely necessary your muscles are until you need to do something simple like scratch your nose.

My second confession is that missing you wouldn't be nearly as bad if it weren't clear to me how much everyone else that I already long for will miss you too. It makes me want to turn off the television I've been watching in my head. It just broadcasts reruns of emotions trying to rip apart the screen. Everyone else's feelings are projected onto me and all of it adds up to missing someone I barely know, crying until tears can't come anymore, and feeling a fire lit within me that I seem to have forgotten.

If only I could wake myself up from this dream, I feel like I could get others to run alongside me the same way you do.