in the a.m



It's been days since I last heard his voice. It makes me edgy, nervous. Not afraid or worried, just on edge. I have only the vaguest of ideas of where he actually is, since he couldn't tell me exactly where he was going, he could only make allusions to it. And it feels weird to me that not knowing where he is doesn't bother me. I wonder why. I hold that wonderment and chew on it. It tastes metallic.

I lay in bed at 2am listening to Jared Leto sing about a man with a map of the world on his face and I think about that too. And the two thoughts become one as I ponder the map on his face. The places he's been. The things he's seen. These things I cannot truly share with him, only ever being a part of the recount, of the telling. Sometimes I feel like a spectator in his life. Because there is much of it I can only observe. I think about his face as a map grid and locate the dots, the places that he has been and know that I will never see those places.

At 3am I am still laying there, staring up at the ceiling. I try to concentrate on my breathing, to control it. I breathe slower, more even and yet it feels forced and wrong. I give up on it and turn back to my iPod, try to block the noise in my head with the sound of Leto's voice. I let the tones wash over me. Lose myself in the music. I don't see 4am.

And the phone remains painfully mute.

2009-09-17 10:18 a.m.