i walked around the house this morning looking for signs of you.  five new empty soda cans, a new wallpaper for your desktop and three dishes later i was starting to think you were a ghost.  hoping you hadn't died, i decided to think of you as my imaginary friend.  it started to make sense why i felt you so much but saw you so little.

your pants were on the living room floor begging to be put on girl hips.  the small hole in the knee was from when they last wanted to hug my waist.  in your pocket was that heart shaped rock i brought back from santa monica.  it still felt sharp on one edge (like the beach without you).

sitting cross legged on the couch watching cartoons, i suddenly caught the smell of the cinnamon color of your hair. it disappeared quickly, taking with it the will to hold back tears.