Sunday, May 22, 2011

7105.

Baby blue eyes and a mohawk. That's what I miss the most.

Amidst all the chiffon and silk, brunches and tea parties, makeup and fake smiles, I remember what reality felt like in the past one month. Grass blades, midnight walks to track fields, drunken stupor, and those baby blue eyes. If I think hard, I can almost see the fine details of a shoulder tattoo, I can remember the defined outlines of a ticklish back, I can almost feel the dips and curves of a toned body.
Many times I've picked up my phone to type out a demanding text for meeting up. And then I remember that there's 7105 miles of oceans and seas and countries and islands in between; 7105 miles of things that I don't care about, things that haven't mattered any less; 7105 miles of the earth, of politics, of people that do not matter; 7105 miles that I wish I could drive in a few hours and see you again.
Hog the bed, sleep near you if not next to you, be able to touch you when possible. Force you to come out, chase me around the grass without shoes, pick me up and throw me over your shoulder.

I miss the feeling of having you near me. The feeling of being able to walk out and seeing you whenever I want. The feeling of running into you at a bus stop and having an awkward conversation in front of someone who hates you.
I just miss you. That's all. You and your baby blue eyes, shaved mohawk. And fat face. Always the fat face.

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