in the year he's been gone.
and then I leapt. I can't not forget the warmth of him, the soft brush of his hair against my face, tickling my nose. I breathed him in...knowing that is the closest I will ever get. Knowing that by doing it, I was doomed.
I drove in the dark, entranced by the moon and feeling the rush of wind upon my flushed face. How I hoped when I got home, that sleep would erase the night. Erase the moon it did, but not the memory of his eyes burning into me. I'm trying really hard not to choose this. I'm trying really hard.
Sunday was lost in sleep. Today was uneventful, in as much as any monday can be. Lunch with Jay and Steve; more rude comments traded with coworkers. I wonder how it would be if I just stopped. Just stopped being the jester.
the 17th is coming, and steven's been on my mind. There was an email from him today - not too personal, just something about his playing live in a band, and he's almost a year clean. He's now been gone twice as long as we'd been together. Once I told him I'd want to marry him after a year being clean.
I miss him so much, that I haven't painted in the year that he's been gone.