Vestigial Numbers

I hate the summer, said the little girl. I hate it because it makes me feel so alone. And when I feel alone, I just cry rivers and rivers of crocodile tears because I don't know what else to do. I haven't anything else to do. I'm so alone, and I feel it in the summer. It must be all those warm nights of sipping lemonade and catching fireflies in mason jars.

- - -

I've run out of options. I've exhausted my every source. I'm too afraid to ask of you because then I'll seem childish and clingy. This isn't puppy love I'm after because we're both grown - grown into people. People with nothing on their minds but destruction and how to cause it. What have we become? No one should love chaos as much as we do. No one.

- - -

I won't lie about this (yes, I will). I've been sitting on the hood of my mother's old Taurus in the driveway just waiting for my courage to get me to walk to your house. I know it's on the other side of town, but I owe you a late night, early morning visit. We've always been about giving and taking, but what now? I'm a coward, and you're a ghost. I'm chasing dead ends and falling asleep to dial tones. I want nothing more than to tell you bad jokes over the phone and hug you on my porch at four in the morning.

- - -

I know that this will all come crashing down around me since we're both horrible at break-ups, and that's where we're headed. That's where the whole world is headed. But I don't want us to come to that. We've lived our whole lives as an extension of the world; it's vestigial structures; it's useless limbs. So I'm on my knees and I'm begging you and I'm not giving up on you (like I've given up on so many others). I'm on my knees, and I'm begging you: please don't give up on me either. I'll get there. It's just a matter of time.