I Miss You

It’s January and it’s cold, and I miss you. I always write propped up on this sofa facing the wall, which is really one big window. It’s the only thing between me and the garden and then the fields beyond, and on a grey winter’s day like this one I can actually see the storm as it sweeps across towards me. The wind’s whistling through the cracks in the window frames, and the rain spills over the top of the guttering onto the deck below in great noisy drips. I wish the spring would hurry up and get here

I meant it when I said you were free. I also meant it when I said I still love you. They’re both true. I believe you too, when you tell me you love me. I understand that you need to sort it all out in your head. You have had such big changes in your life – maybe it’s the first time as an adult that you’ve been able to think of things like that, and I can see how important it is to you that you do this.

So I told you to go ahead – I said you had to imagine a piece of paper; on one side it says you’re totally free, on the other side that I love you. I have no idea if you’ll find your equilibrium, your answers. I don’t know who you’ll be when you do. Whatever – I hope it brings you what you want. You have no idea either – I think that’s why you told me to duck, in case you hurt me – you said you wouldn’t be able help it. You’re not being lame. You have to find yourself, and then maybe, if you still want to, you can come and see if I am still here - I want to be - but it’s ok if you don’t too.

I knew something was up months before you told me, but I was surprised when you explained what it was. Before, I though maybe it was the crystal meth. I noticed how much you were doing when I was over there that last time. I thought that perhaps it was messing your face up again, or your head, and I’m not sure the vitamins and supplements are going to make all that much difference to be honest. It was funny to watch you taking them so regularly though. I don’t know how all that’s going - you said a lot the other day, but not about crystal meth or your face.

I miss you. What I miss most of all is the words – millions of them back and forth – about everything and nothing. Like a shooting competition – firing words across the Atlantic. It was so exciting waking up the next morning to find what you’d fired back. It always made me smile; Books and music and memories of old dear friends, and places and gigs and drugs and parties we went to and clothes we wore, and bands you were in, and what you did all that time we didn’t see each other, and art you made, and places you went.

I still can’t work out quite how we managed to miss each other so often when we were both still in London. And then also of course, that thing you said – it was a kind of dare, to start writing again, and you know I can’t ever resist a dare, so I did it – I started again and I love it so much, and you were really pleased, and so encouraging. I’m very grateful for that.

Then it all changed didn’t it. You sort of disappeared for a while. I missed you a lot that time – even more than now. It was so sad when all the words stopped.

Afterwards you said it was the crystal meth, and how your face was fucked up from the heat of the pipe, and you hid away until it got better, but things never quite felt the same after that silence, even when I was over there again. Sometimes you seemed so far away – although we were in the same room.

Mostly it was lovely. Remember when you met me, and I was late because I’d said the wrong thing to the immigration man – I couldn’t help it, he was really annoying me - and I rushed out when they’d finished taking my bag apart, exhausted after a twelve hour flight and desperate for a cigarette, and you were waiting, and you put your arms around me, and then we got lost because you'd forgotten where your car was? I didn’t mind at all that it took half an hour to find, because I was so happy to see you again.

That ride back out of the airport, it was such bliss - stretching my legs out after being all cramped up in the plane, and you put your sunglasses on and fished around in the glove compartment and said “here – try one of these” and you’d put a little bit of smack in a cigarette for me and I was really touched at your thoughtfulness! I took a big drag and held my breath, looking out at the huge cacti as we sped past them– they are so hilarious - like pantomime plants.

I opened the window and stuck my hand out and felt the hot air – England had been so cold when I’d left. And then I sat back and closed my eyes and smiled as the breeze hit my face and I felt the lovely warm buzz start. Everything was wonderful. So that’s what I’ll remember – and those photographs we looked at – from the Mexican day of the dead – all the curious horses and skeletons – they were so beautiful – and every now and then there would be this little electric shock that would pass between us – you could almost see it, and we’d have to put the book down for a while.

I’ll also think of those sunny days that followed, when we did absolutely nothing and it all made me smile – and the loveliness of suddenly wearing a t-shirt and walking barefoot again, and the sun burning my arms, even though it was December.

And now it’s January and it’s cold and I miss you, but I am ok about it, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.