that's the feeling, at least, as i listen to this song, alone, late at night.

the lights are out, now.

just the glow of the screen.

earlier, it stormed.

lightning as close as i've ever known it struck outside the window.

we made plans, you and i. listing things we wanted to do together, things we wanted to see together.

and it was all gentle and easy and you loved me.

loved me in this tender way i never expected from you.

but there was this hardness to it, too. this roughness that grabbed us both and surprised me as much as your tenderness did.

you just said i bruised easily.

but there.

you're there, falling asleep in the seat next to me as i drive.

your best friend plays the violin. we watched her, once, in separate sections of the auditorium.

she stood there, standing where hundreds of musicians before her had stood, in that white dress that clung and made her seem so much older than she was when i first met her.

we watched her sway and close her eyes and smile and get lost.

we watched separately.

later we would ride in the same car with her, in the same back seat as her, while your other best friend drove fast down an empty street late at night. she screamed out songs into the darkness and you looked at me.

i went to two friends' art opening tonight. their photographs of nude people hung on bare walls in an upstairs room that stretched the length of the building.

i circled it, looking at women. looking at their stomachs in black and white. their knee in color. her hair. her hands as she slept, unaware of the photographer standing over her midday.

you fell asleep next to me as i drove further and further away, leaving the sun behind me, leaving the roads i knew shortcuts on and around, leaving behind everything and everyone but you and me.

there's not much more to say than all this, everything.

i miss you.