i want to write about you

i want to write about you, but i know you would make fun of me. i also kind of want to make fun of me, and you would know that about me too. it's hard seeing you only sometimes, when i feel like you're a part of me. it's like i can feel my heart beating a thousand miles (968 miles, but close enough) away when we're apart. except i don't think about it, kinda like i don't think about the fact that my heart is beating right now inside my own chest too. it's a reflex. when i'm with you i feel like i'm whole. i'm fine with being alone, as long as i can be alone with you. my arms wrapped around you like i'm scared you'll slip away at many moment. i know you wont, not yet at least, but i still want you closer. closer. without you it feels like something is missing, but i only realise this when you lay beside me - laughing or just quietly looking at your phone - or walk with your hand clasped in mine in my jacket pocket. it's an old jacket, and the fabric in the pocket is worn and broken. i make sure our hands don't dig their way into the raw insides of the jacket, but instead stay in the proper side of pocket lining like they are "supposed to". it doesn't help much against the cold night air by the sea, but i like being connected to you. i think we were meant to be like this more often. 

i put the shirt you borrowed right back into my closet, it was clean when you borrowed it (i think..) and since you're as much me as i am, i don't have the need to wash it when it's not dirty. it doesn't smell like you, it mostly smells like me. even if it did smell like you, i wouldn't know. i used to know what you smelled like, but i almost never see you anymore. i miss when i saw you all the time, every day and night. you sound like you always do and you feel like an extension of myself, like you always do, but your smell is that of a strangers. i don't mind it, but i also don't know it. it's kinda weird that smell can awake so many emotions, maybe i will think of you when i open my backpack and it still smells of weed. maybe i'll think of you when i wear the shirt you gave me. maybe i'll think of you always. 
maybe you will think of me too. maybe when you look at the key-chain on your phone. maybe only when i text you. i know you're bad at dealing with things not directly in contact with you. i wish i could be, all the time. i know you think of me, but not as much as i think of you. i think when we were split; one becoming two, i got all the longing.

- a.z.e.