for the better half of the last few days,i’ve emptied myself of you, and albeit gut wrenching, i’ve inched on. as ineared the off ramp of you, something happened. the last of what i feel for youorganized a mutiny. they threatened civil war. they went as far as drafting aletter of intent. it outlined their targets as the most populated areas of mewith feelings for anything other than you. and those areas they’d siege. myfeelings, from least to greatest met at my center and expressed their refusal tonegotiate, specifically on the grounds of there being so few of my feelings foryou left. but even in being clearly outnumbered my feelings for you, there wasstill unrest. so there they were. my feelings for you and my feelings for me,weapons in hand ready to make war. my feelings for myself declared a state ofemergency and drew a line of demarcation and dared my feelings for you to crossit. and in typical fashion, my feelings for you crossed that line, mouthpouring with contempt. and in the process of the ensuing melee, my feelings foryou fired the first shot. i don’t know that i’ve ever been more broken. i can’tcount the times my feelings for myself gathered in the courtyard of my soul andthrew rocks through the windows of my heart pleading for me to explain whatwould ever make me outsource my love. how many more feelings for myself wouldbe laid off, unemployed, and without a means to survive? they think very littleof my feelings for you. and rightfully so. at the highest point of my love,flies the flag of my feelings for you. how can that not be suicide?
or more fittingly…youicide.
the fighting continued until both sideswere literally trying to load their weapons with their words, when in fact,their weapons were their words. my feelings for myself called for an embargo onmy feelings for you because of the mounting unpaid import tariffs my feelingsfor you refused to pay. they are immigrants you know. my feelings for youexplained how they’d lobbied for months on end to get the import tariffs curtailedbecause their invitation was in my handwriting and all of their calls to theauthorities, went unanswered. the conflict ended interestingly, in a collectivebargaining agreement aptly called the agony accord. my feelings for you wouldcontinue to be imported so long as my feelings for myself could exported…toyou. i tried explaining this to my new steady, but she just sat thereunemotional. how could i have expected this to go over well? i couldn’t. itdidn’t. after a few moments, she stood up, grabbed her coat and asked if myfeelings for her were ever mentioned in the negotiations. i suppose my silencegave her the answer she needed most but wanted least. she walked out. i knowthat was the last of her. i’ll admit that being with her was like that albumyou buy when you know the best song is the last song. so you painstakingly fastforward over and over again hoping that maybe the rest of the album will vanishand leave you with the one song you actually want to hear. her leaving was thatsong. 
i don’t merely miss you. i miss the partsof me that cease to exist outside of my communication with you. i miss theexpress mailed thoughts of you I get from moment to moment. i miss running overwith the very idea that you exist and not having a container fit enough to pourit in. there has been a downturn in my emotional economy because i no longerhave you as my gross domestic product. i want dual citizenship between us. iwant us to occupy you, me and each other both. i want to learn your fears by heartand hunt them down and kill them one by one until that one fear without birthor death is the fear of there ever being a beat of your heart and i am notwithin an earshot, an arms length or a kiss blown because as one we are pangeaand apart…we are nothing. we have nothing. Baby nothing is everything incontrast to what we’ll be if we are not together.
so be with me.
be with me.
why won’t you be with me.