keeping up with jones

it's 3:11am right now.

side note: i needed them to know that my line brother is not my friend. he is my brother. more like my right arm.
side note 2: writing is therapy.

i sat down at the island to catch up on 4 episodes of shows missed - and it happened.
i cried.

since thursday night i've been attempting to drown a few sorrows and non-existent tears in glasses of tequila (some straight - some with lime) - bottles of bud light & shots of flavored vodka.
i said "attempt" - because i drank the glasses so fast, nothing would drown in them.

i lost my friend. that was hard. that was how i dealt with it.
what was harder was watching the man who loved her deal with it - knowing there was nothing i could say.
what was harder was watching her parents walk into her apartment, pack up bags of her clothes, dishes and photos - stuff them into her car - and drive away.

there were few forced smiles - but no occasion for it.

i lost my friend.
and i cried for her. and then i cried for them

and then i realized something.
we all want that.

it's pouring down raining outside my window.

we all want that love that hurts us horribly when we no longer have it.

one day i want to write you a letter & leave it on the island - beside your car keys.
i want to say:

let's discard the king bed & buy a twin.
i want to sleep a little closer to you tonight.
i want to hold you just a little bit tighter.
tonight.

we all want that love that hurts us horribly when we no longer have it.