I live in this huge house, with these four kids. I have a refrigerator full of food. I have clothes to wear and money in the bank. I have a paycheck I can anticipate being there when I need it to be.

Yet I hate the cost.

I hate giving up the hand holding. The kisses. The touches. The closeness. The silent moments, sitting together on the sofa. I hate being here without you. I hate our half empty bed. I hate being around "our" friends. I hate holidays. I hate birthdays. I hate every days. I hate myself, and the fact that I can barely function, or function in some completely screwed up way, with you gone. I hate that nothing has any meaning, if it doesn't connect back to you. I hate that nothing matters to me, if it isn't a part of you. I hate being sober. I hate sleeping. I hate being awake. I hate every moment that I'm not sitting there next to you.

Remember last year when my eye went hog wire and it was red and hurting? It's doing that again. Maybe it's stress... Maybe it's seasonal. Maybe it's loneliness. Maybe even my damn right eye misses you more than it knows how to handle.

Where the hell are you? Fuck it. I know where you are. I know what you're doing, or at least some glimpse of what you're doing. I get it.

Why aren't you here? Why does it take me two months to scream that out into the darkness? Why does it take my hands two months to ache? To hurt? To cry? Why does it come on the heels of the greatest day I've had in ages? Why? Why aren't you here to talk to? Why don't you feel my broken heart from a million miles away?

I need you. I cease to exist when you aren't here. It's a sickness. I know. But I'm too loose to hide it.