at that point when i'm mutilating daisies

i miss you when you're gone. i miss you all the time. i wish you were here, though i cannot imagine past the fulfilment of that one wish. i drop references of you into disconnected conversations the way one drops names of famous people one knows, nonchalantly on purpose, like secrets that beg to be told. i think of you every second second, in spurts and shocks and spite (in spite) of all better judgement. i hold long discussions with you in my head where i say all the things i wish i could think of when you were around, when people actually heard me. i wait with busy signals and pointed status messages all for you, only for you, and i forgive you when you never notice. i write you letters pages long in my imagination and then tear them up because they all end up making uncomfortable admissions that i am not sure i believe...or want to.

i've been here before.
will i survive another one?