whenever i see a cinder block stuck in the mud at low tide i wonder whose ankles it used to belong to. i want to kiss them and make them better. I’ll kiss everything. i wanted to call and tell you i saw an ambulance today. but then i’d have to tell you i was at the liquor store again. a gray haired man collapsed in line at the register. the paramedics took his lifeless body away. i just wanted to ride back with them to the morgue. i wanted my own cabinet. instead i bought apricot brandy and some ginger ale. anyway, it was strange to watch someone pass away in front of me. i cried. but it wasn’t like when you left. how i expected an obituary. there was no wake. no room full of sympathetic acquaintances gently cooing as i rest a bouquet of sweet williams on a photos of someone i no longer know. lately i just want to blurt things into your voicemail. i’d say things like “i hate the parts of me that miss you. i wish i could cut them out of me.” or “i would be your oyster. i’ll swallow all the things you’ve done to me and still give you this pearl “i love you.” i’m afraid of saying things like “i just want you to be here when the rain stops.” or “i guess i’ll leave the phones sound on in case you miss me.” but you never do. it’s hard you know? doing things people do in someone’s absence. i get so upset thinking about where you sleep or if you’ve been read to lately. i don’t like having to wonder. i hate that you wrote “i’ll never give up on you” on a piece of paper once and then mailed it to me. it makes me think about how the back of stamps taste like goodbye.