As I sit

As I sit (yes I realise* I’ve already said that in the title to this piece and it’s probably like an inch above and four to the left of this text) I wonder what I can write to Erica.

She is gone now.

Kaput, vamoosh, the past tense of ‘arrivederci’ and so on.

It was an amicable parting. I do not think she is awful. And I’m pretty sure she does not think I am awful.

awwwwwwww

I’m going to chuck it all on the table and say that I miss the crap out of her.

[Pause for effect…]

Imagine you are the only one not colour blind. On the whole planet. That you see for real that all traffic lights are actually green, red, and a pictograph of free-willy fucking a penguin. And the penguin is bleeding pretty badly, but the photographer isn’t doing anything, she’s like, oh this f2.0 is giving me so much bokeh I’ve got a lady boner.

Everyone else just sees red and red and green. Obviously the Nazis see red and green and green. cunts.

But Erica sees the orca/penguin fiasco too. She sees the silliness. She sees that no one else sees it. She sees that I see it, and that I’m excited. I see that she sees it and if you’re still reading then fucking good for you.

She makes the insanity of everyone else more bearable. More than that, she makes me feel like maybe I’m the sane one.

I miss her for that.

I miss her in the conventional sense that I liked being with her, and now I am not.

I miss her because she’s fucking hot, and it’s cool to fuck a hot chick.

I miss her because she is Erica, and she’s the one for me.

God I love her.


*And yes I realize Webster was possibly the most short sighted cunt on the planet. “Oh, a Z would look better than an S here, let us change the fucking dictionary.”

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