i miss that stupid greasy hair the stubbled face and your one slightly wandering eye, that bloodshot patch on the white of the other eye, your gaptooth, the way you only wear t-shirts with your tiny gut pushing out from beneath. i miss having to explain the plot complexities of movies and tv shows, and i miss the way you don't understand my love of the office or the alfred hitchcock hour from 11-12 on the local station but support it nonetheless. i miss the way you could only cook mexican food and only wanted mexican food and sometimes meatballs or chicken curry. and i miss the way you saw me as all that was good in your world, your beacon of bright happy sunshine, that is until i took it and ripped it to shreds and made it so that you couldn't go more than two days without seeing whatshisface. whatshisface with his own brand of misshaveness, a scrawny frame filled with beer and the desire to be bukowski, but who laughed with me and challenged my brain and asked it to RISE to the occasion, which is something i cannot miss about you, because it is something you hardly ever did.

white