can’t sleep, thinking of the old (and of you)

I miss my best friend. I wish I had the energy to write an eloquent sonnet for how much I miss her,  or to write a tale of our history together ending with that bitter, pointless ill worded falling out at the Indian buffet before we moved to Florida. I’ve just had the deep longing to smell her hair and see her mossy eyes, and to play dress up with her and be silly. I suppose my growing comes in waves, and in retrospect I lost a great deal of myself after the divorce, and after the restructuring of self began. I suppose in order to find yourself you do truly have to lose yourself first. Then again, was the self perceived to be lost ever actually found? Regardless, there was an innocence during the days of our most intimate moments together, and I think I had to experience that loss of the perceived innocence. I had to feel with empathy and without defenses what her emotions and her vantage point really felt like. It’s resonance is deep within the chasms of my being. I can only look around at the fractured pieces of my old life and understand that a new universe is before me, and with certainty I can walk forward, and take with me those hidden glittering, delicious faery magick particles that carry with them that spirit of innocence, of hope and of bliss. To the silly slavic faery lady with the eyes of sea moss, I love you. Thank you for all the magick you sang to me.