I seem to have lost you. If I had a map back to you, I would follow it no matter what the cost. If I found the right route back to you here’s what I’d do. I would sleep in as long as possible because it was the best time I slept, next to you. I would take sips of you in the moment as we woke up. I would lay under your arm as you plopped my belly button with one finger while you laughed out loud cause you love the sound. I would cobble together little Frankenstein promises creating our favorite adventures for the day. I would stifle a mischievous chuckle as you poked and tickled me. Time would slow as I watched you get up and get dressed to take the girls outside. You would stretch your sinewy muscles, shake out your unruly mane, and sharpen your claws. As you turned your attention on me with your lion like yawn, I would smile, ready to end my reign and re-establish the natural order in our bedroom food chain. Afterward we would further exhaust ourselves talking about how beneficial a morning workout routine would be for us. A big breakfast would be in order. You would play with the dogs and turn on music while I cooked. It would have the intended effect. Then, as you leaned on the counter and say when’s it gonna be ready affecting your signature combination of devil-may-care nonchalance and blue-blood poise, you would converse on the trials tribulations of life as an intellectual outlaw. At the start, it would be my intention to make something healthy a sort of sacrificial offering to the fitness we tried to muster up after having forsaken them. I would end up serving conspiratorial smiles with an egg bacon fried bologna cheese spinach and Sirahcha. After finishing breakfast to hobble lesser beings, the band that seemed to capture perfectly to the sound of our love you know the one, would sing us through our shower as you naggingly complained that I stole all the water but it made me smile anyway. After that we’d dry off, getting dressed I watched you slide into your thermal shirt and camo pants. I would eye the ripped corner on the back pocket, musing over the fact that a new pair would never do justice because I can’t imagine you any other way, an orchestrated cacophony, my handsome catastrophe. You would hug me and poke me asking so what are we gonna do today. We would hike into the woods behind our house. Sometimes we told the same stories even tho they never got old. Sometimes we’d talk about the most random idiotic subjects and I would float off into bubbles of uncontrollable laughter while you looked petulantly dignified, a sheepish blush creeping up your neck all the while. Here and there you’d pull me close and love me a little letting me know I was yours. Always. No matter if we were alone; people friends or family. I would feel your weight against me, and smell the and old smoke on your jacket, then close my eyes. I always complained about the cold initially but I wouldn’t trade the moments we spent traveling on foot together exploring for anything. I would tell you as much. Our conversations on what to do later in the evening deciding which monkeys on our proverbial backs to appease, our fingers would lightly connect every few steps. We never were able to go long without touching. Sometimes the walk back would be quiet, but not without communication. Sometimes the homunculi operating our meat-suits just needed to bypass what they saw as extraneous systems and interact directly. Both of us being crepuscular by nature, this is when we would watch each other really flicker on. Eyes would light up as we slowly and deliberately drowned our night in easy conversation with a bottle of tawny whiskey. Like when I write or draw you would smear your soul on the same page as mine, weave it into the rhythm stroke after stroke, when people saw it they would understand what it meant to love someone. I would sear a map of our love, that map that I’m in such desperate need of now, onto our psyches with a flame of creation so we could always find our way back to each other. I would tell you, with my characteristic wild hand gestures and theatricality, about a nightmare I once had where we were apart and could we could only connect through vague psychic messages and missed phone calls; how I had to keep company with a beautiful ghost, and how breathtakingly lonely it had been. I would DJ you through the experience song by song, as is my tendency, and explain each song’s significance to the story. You would shudder, wrap me in your arms, and promise to spare me that phantom limb pain at all costs. I would fold into you, and breathe in every small moment together. I would stop believing in time, just so I was able to will that moment into infinity. I would not be distracted by work or my mental carousel of anxiety. I would see you. I would thank you. I wouldn’t take you for granted one second. And I would tell you that, if ever we were to be separated, if we ever forgot how to read our maps, I would leave bread crumbs wherever I was. I would always, no matter what had passed, want you to find your way home. We’ve made that map, so I’ll have to hope the light on our psychic bat signal doesn’t go out. In the mean time, I love you always. Love yourself. In due time just start looking for breadcrumbs. You’ll find me.