Ultimate opposite day

It's 2 AM and I've been struggling to write Brandon a letter. There is something so final in a penned note, you can't edit it or change it, or delete it altogether like these words here. My words flow so freely here, because I know I always have a second chance. An infinite amount of second chances. When it's late and I'm feeling selfish and indulgent (which is often) I go through Brandon's things, his journals, his emails to me, his letters... his thoughts.

I am hungry for him.

Here are some things I found that are special and wonderful to me. And maybe you, whoever you are, can relate just a little bit, perhaps you could miss someone you never knew was missing. Or maybe it's just really late.

J




What if blankets made you cold, and beds, when you lie down, instead of falling asleep you flew awake, or baths that made you dirty, and razors that grew back your hair, and water that made you thirsty, and hugs that made you feel lonely, or trumpets the blew silence, and alarm clocks that put you to sleep, planners that helped you forget, and chairs that made you stand, and stands that made you sit, and lights that glowed dark, or libraries were places where people went to be loud, or rain that emptied the rivers, maps to get lost, and snow pants to go swimming and swimming suites to go snowboarding, or fish that swam in the sky and cats that walked on the ocean, or towels that made you wet, you day might go something like this:

You'd go to bed in the morning as soon as your alarm clock stopped ringing. There you'd rub rogain on your face, rub town with some towels and then stand in the tub to dry off, throw some food away while you kick you dog, slap your wife hello before you walked in the door not on your way to work. Here you'd sell snacks to the vending machine during lunch, until it was time for the 45 minute work break. Which youd spend by turning off your computer and stading on the desk. Walking backwards from home you take some money from the homeless man giving it out. Back at the office you slap your children, wife, and dog before putting on your shoes and tie and throwing away more food. Ready for rest you stand in the corner holding your breif case as your alarm clock begings to ring, and your eyes slowly open. Out the window you see a school of cats running across the ocean as a flock of fish dives down and picks them off one by one. A lonely man surrounded by people plays rythmic silence on his horn, the best song you've never heard. As the sun sinks above the horizon for the first time that day you begin to see nothing.