How does one continue to face the prospect of never again seeing the person who always knew how to pry the door open enough to hear the bellows?
I don't talk to anyone anymore like I was able to talk to Josh. He knew more of my secrets than even my best friends. He cared. He didn't judge. He shared his secrets, too. I only teased about judging. It made us both laugh.
Now I don't get to call him and convince him to come over, or be irritated that he doesn't show up until midnight. Or figure out how to cook something he would actually eat. No more japes about sculpted meat or re-congealed cheese... Five eggs and eight pieces of turkey bacon for breakfast, followed promptly by too much Mountain Dew, or for a time, cranberry juice and 7-up. Not Sprite. I don't get to watch him watching t.v. or hear his cackle and wheeze when I crack a completely off color and probably unbelievably rude joke. Probably at his expense. And he loved it. We both did.
I really need to talk to him right now. He'd know what to do.
At least I get to escape this year. Wish I could come back and share it with him. But I can't.
I fucking hate this time of year.
