Today was a good day; only slightly above mediocre and I know precisely why. I fiddled around on the beach for a while. Enjoyed a good book; a compilation of short stories and the writing was phenomenal which made them sensational. I felt my feet in the sand and I watched my daughter play. It was pretty much perfect or would have been. I managed to swing by a British store and pick up a packet of Jaffa cakes. I am a huge sucker for Jaffa cakes and the box is nearly gone. I need to go back to England. The fresh ones are better and there are so many other things I miss dearly.
I munched on my cakes while lying by the pool. The sun was a bit hot but not so scorching as to disrupt the pleasant feel of it resting upon my skin. I had a great dinner, delightful dessert, and everything was just about right. Just about. There was much tedious pleasure today and that kept my mind occupied with the idea of resting and enjoying things around me. I was content and my mind was kept in good company. But, there were moments when my mind wandered; moments when it went on a blatant search for something it couldn’t find.
It was as if I had forgotten something, something very important and I couldn’t remember what. I felt the feeling several times throughout the day and my brain would simply panic. A siren would go off in my head and alert the search teams to go out in all directions. Of course, there was nothing to tell the search teams to search for because I couldn’t quite place it. The teams would vanish into the various locked compartments of my mind and every time they returned with the same simple and agonizing answer, “I miss him”. Have you ever felt that way? Ever just enjoyed being with someone so much that their absence seems to form a void?
It’s not as if the void is heart wrenching and it doesn’t really interfere. There isn’t a desperate need and you don’t fail to be you when you can’t be with them but still…your mind knows something isn’t right. Your body aches as if you have lain in the wrong position for too long. Nothing fits perfectly without their hand in yours. Have you ever felt that way? Ah, the agony and the ecstasy of life! It aches the bones to fill this way and it thrills my heart to feel your arms remove the ache. The feeling is incredible, delightful if only for the sake that you have the power and ability to make it cease.
Where would literature be without such emotions and what would I write could I not feel such things? On that note, I will end this because I am turning (very quickly I might add) into something and someone I very much despise. Yes, I am that into him and no, I do not think it’s cool. I much prefer bitter diatribes myself so I will indulge my fancies and slip into a fictional world of unending heartache to assure tomorrow’s entry is much less happy and much more enjoyable. Night world.
