You spend years looking at bodies as if they were files

And then one day a girl disappears from your life. No need to say how. No need to make it news or put on sad music. Enough with it being gone. So that his voice does not come back. With that a chair, a bed, a street or a song is forever stained by its absence. And then you understand the brutal stupidity of everything else. What else was his body giving. What else would I give if I was tired. What else would he give if he had changed. What else did he give his misplaced hair, his random clothes, his face of not sleeping, his cold hands, his way of laughing, his way of occupying the world without asking for permission. You would've hugged her anyway. No. You would have hugged her like you hug her when there's nothing left to save but the memory. With a rage. Hungry. With my arms full of afternoon. With that useless desperation of wanting to hold on to someone when life has already ripped it out of you. So take care of yourself. Yes. Of course I do. But don't hate yourself. Because maybe one day someone won't miss your perfect body. Maybe I miss exactly what you despised about yourself. And I'd give anything to see you walk through the door again. Even if she was unkempt. Even though it was broken. At least for a second.