This is still incredibly painful.

I wake up at 4:30 in the morning thousand of miles away from New York. My eyes shoot open, and my first thoughts are,"Oh yeah, you're gone, and I'm so far away from the place that it happened." Suddenly, my heart collapses, my eyes swell, and I am gasping for air. Asking why it happened gets me nowhere. Damn that great big terrible it. I get up. I lay back down. I get up again. I can't stand still, since I don't have a solid ground to stand on, so I roll a cigarette, drink a beer, and drink the Ouzo my Thea bought especially for you. I'd smoke some pot if I had some. I realize now, deprived of it, how helpful it has been at keeping my emotions at bay. (Read: comfortably numb.)
I left New York at the end of August.
First I traveled to the West Coast in search of you, then I found myself recrossing the continent, passing the Atlantic, arriving here at me my Thea's house in a suburb of Athens. You know where. We were here three summers ago. We slept in my Thea's tiny bed, not quite a twin and not quite a full, but somewhere in between. I try to remember if we ever had sex on that oddly sized bed and I can't. My brain was not expecting to catalog our entire life together so suddenly.
I thought we had time. You told me we had time. You told me you were going to be the kind of old man who will secretly pinch the bottoms of young ladies someday. You told me of our shared future as a funny old couple. I trusted you. You lied to me, and you still don't even have the decency to at least tell me why? I'm sick and tired of hearing people thank you for coming to their dreams, inspiring their lives, making them funnier, while I am left with an empty hand, and a heavy heart. Fuck you.
I didn't really mean that.
I usually don't mean a lot of the negative things that come out of my mouth. Like, "It doesn't matter, " for example. Remember that one? I must of said that to you about a dozen times the night you decided to take by far the craziest walk ever imagined. What were you thinking? We've had worse fights. Damn that night. Damn it to hell. Do you know how awful I feel? Tears. Tears. Tears. I feel like the worst human being ever. Despite the many times you looked at me and told me I'm wonderful, I'm good, I make the world better, I just don't believe it. How can I? Not only has my trust been compromised, and my heart ripped open, I can't forgive myself for not being in a better mood that night. I feel as if the fate of our future was laid in my hands, and was contingent upon my actions: be sad and sleep or be available and talk.
Crap.

Suffer or sleep?

I have to write something quick. Before the water boils and the kettle sings. I've just spent the last hour and a half on facebook. My eyes hurt. I am making water for an adrenal tea I bought from a naturopathic shop. You know, herbs for medicine, tinctures, and washable maxi pads for sale, that kind of store. My kind of store. Okay, the water's boiled. The herbs are steeping. Maybe tomorrow, I won't shake as much. Adrenal Tonic, Fish Oil Pills, Lemon Balm, Echinacea, and Calendula. These are the names of my make believe kids.

Blue Lake

To think about the future is trivializing.

I can't.
It's three.

Trying to type distorts my face.
Frowns, and droopy eyes-
the disappointments in my skill set,
obviously mixing with
my sadness over you-
the talented one.

I'm a slow typer.

You were so fast.

A letter.

Dear Adrian,

Tonight we were all sitting outside having some drinks and smokes. We were talking about stuff, having a laugh and a cry when all of a sudden your brother noticed two chihuahuas entering through the front gates. Well, he thought they were chihuahuas, they were in fact kittens. You are well aware that I love the kittens. I zombie walked straight to the them. "Braaaaaiiiiinnnsss..." I said to myself but more actually"kiiiiitttttteeeeeennnnnsssss...".
Adolfo warned me not to bring the kittens close to the dogs so I listened and stayed far away, but I did pick one up, snuggle it, felt its soothing purr in the palm of my hand before tossing it back over the fence. I worried that perhaps because I touched it, its mother would reject it. I expressed my concern to the others and was told it was fine. I was also told the neighbors who owned the cats were careless with their pets by letting them roam in other people's yards, to procreate as they please, so in the case of these kittens it was their responsibility, not ours to care about them.
Adolfo said if the dogs were to wake up they would eat the kittens. I somewhat half believed him. Not because I don't believe dogs eat kittens, but because I felt it just wouldn't happen right now, in your yard, with your family dogs. Like Jen's toddler sleeping peacefully on the coach inside, I believed the dogs would not wake up for clearly it was bedtime. Even we were turning in, slowly, one by one. First Adolfo, then Meghan.
Then the kittens came back. Jen and I didn't notice until one woke up the dogs, and there it was, a full blown cat eating dog crazy time.
Each dog had a kitten in their mouth. I managed to grab one from the older dog. Jen was the only one who witnessed the whole ordeal with me. I kicked the kitten out of the dog's mouth, grabbed it, and  tossed it over the fence. When that was over, relieved I had thrown the kitten over the fence, I looked up and saw that the younger and "more dangerous" dog was still fighting with another kitten. Worse, it was the kitten I had just snuggled with earlier. At first I thought to go over there, but I also couldn't believe what I was witnessing. I was hoping to see the kitten get away. It wasn't. Jen did not try to get it. I asked her what to do- if I should go over there. She said, "no," and I just stood there as I watched the dog take the kitten away in it's mouth. She got it. Victory.
Well, anyway that totally blew my mind, and I wanted to tell you all about it. I like to believe if you were here you would have gotten the other kitten. We would have simultaneously gone into action at the moment we saw what was happening. Yes, I do. I know that's not what happened. This is just what I think. After, Jen and I came inside and started reading about owl medicine online. That's a whole other story. Of the many interesting things the website said about owls, it said to write a letter to a loved one who has passed. It wrote, "Look back at some of the "deaths" in your life. How have they helped you to become the person you are today?" So here I am. This your letter, and this is what I'm thinking about.
I realize that this letter is not as hopeless as the other letters I've written you since you died. It's definitely a better letter, yes. Okay, it's late and I'd like to go to sleep now.

Goodnight beloved Adrian,

Eleni

Your Land is Beautiful.

I get caught up on being negative-
on seeing things with a certain finality.
It's nearly impossible to berate you,
the Departed.

But it's so easy to abuse myself.

My thoughts like little fists,
fight relentlessly.
I am their target.

My soul is a punching bag
to absorb the pain,
the blame, the whole of everything.

I sit in your land. How beautiful it is.
I wonder why I'm here and you're not.

I sleep in your bed,
in your room.

I eat the food that
you should be eating.

I take a shower-

naked without you.

Going through our things is awful.

The amount of times I've stumbled upon a note of yours that says how blessed you are to have me in your life makes me want to rip my heart out and throw it in a dumpster. I am such an asshole. No, I am less than an asshole. I'm a sore pimple on a dirty rectum. I'm low. I'm down. I'm dirty.

Regrets regrets regrets!

Ahhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Baby, I miss you.

Hey! The world is beautiful!

I think sometimes that it would be in my best interest to write a little softer; to put a bit of sweetness in my sentences. I tell my friend who happens to be a poet, and an idealist, that I feel my writing is irreverent and angry. She likes it, and tells me she wants to be less of an idealist. I like her idealism. She likes my "honesty". Often, it makes me sad when I look back at what I've written. I come off as someone who believes that nothing is sacred. How untrue.

Why can't I write about rainbows without smearing them in shit?

I've seen rainbows. I love rainbows. I smile anytime I see one. I practically go gaga when there's two in the sky. I'm a grinning idiot telling strangers to look up and behold the double glory. Yet, I don't write about rainbows, or soft winds, or about the wonders of the natural world. Instead, I carelessly toss out tragedies, regard them with flippancy, and fasten thoughts with an expletive or two.
What do I have to complain about, really?