The Art of Missing

It's been two weeks now since Edward left to spend the holidays in Berlin.
I'm trying not to think too much about it, really.
It's funny but I like to pretend that I'm not aware that he's gone.
That way, maybe, time will run faster and, when less expected, he'll be back.

However, sometimes I wonder if it's cruel to think this way.
Is it selfish to hope for his premature return, even for a little while?

It's really stupid, but I find myself staring at my cell-phone every fifteen minutes.
As if he'd could somehow communicate across the Atlantic Ocean
and perhaps the soft echo of a whisper would reach my eardrum.
screaming: "how much I miss your freckles..."

I'm trying to live on my tip-toes, in total silence
for I imagine that if I'm really quiet, the wait will not notice my presence
and I will be able to sneak into his arms and fall asleep.
So I'm waiting, patiently, not making a sound.

Mom is beginning to worry, she says it's not normal for me to act this way.
I'm trying to give her the slip, so I've started reading a lot in the living room.
Playing old CDs from when I was in High School
I must have finished three or four books by now.

(That Andrew Bird song that says:
I'm all for moderation but sometimes it seems 
moderation itself can be kind of extreme
it just gives me the chills....)

So anyway, the other day I had the strangest dream.
I dreamed that I recieved a postcard from him.
It figured a long and pretty avenue called 'Unter Den Linden'
where he said fancy people used to hang out a lot many years ago.
He wrote that the winter was being brutal over there
and that he was freezing all the time,
days were shorter, nights were longer
so he had to take refuge in small coffee shops to get warm.

Last night I couldn't sleep.
I was up all night thinking of Edward, shivering in the streets of Berlin
And when I looked outside the window I suddenly realized
We were no longer covered by the same night sky.
And I felt so alone and helpless.
But I'm constantly staring at my cell-phone, wondering.