If I could talk to you now, I would tell you that you have been the only guy I ever knew that didnt make me ever feel sick inside. I could explain this further but I cant be bothered.

It is about 3am right now. If this was you writing this, you would be drunk and saying something ridiculously charming. I would try to be cool and take the piss. You wouldnt be able to see I was faking nonchalence. I’d love that. Getting one over on you, priceless :-)

If you could know how you made me feel.

I dont know why this last day and today I have been unable to shake your memory. It has been years without a serious thought. I wonder if something has happened to you and this is my sixth sense. You make me believe in all those things I’ve read.

You make me feel like I’m walking down the corridors of my favourite places in my favourite books.

You give me that feeling of coming home  and going  to the garden with good old  Pedro and seeing the mountains and getting the  breath knocked out of me by their massiveness and snowyness and closeness even though they have been there since my birth.

You remind me of the time I won the part of Scrooge in the school play when I was 12. Even though I was a little brown girl! Excelsior!

I guess you make me miss you. How I miss those moments of my youth. You make me feel how I felt then. Never sick and strange. Never out of my skin.

A lot of guys didnt like you, they thought you were an arrogant, a true wanker. I know you weren’t. I never even gave it much thought, but the times you couldnt sleep and we would talk. Now I think about it, it was the best. When you would outright fall apart and disappear and shun everyone and be so funny about being so bored and depressed.  The way we both loved sleep. The way you needed the attention of everyone and would charm the world and his wife, especially the wife may I add. All the sides of you. Your love for Germany. Your hate for all things french even though your surname is french, hah. The fact you admitted it was french.

The way you cared for your little brother and your mum was the most important thing to you. The way you were cagey about your  estranged father who you disliked so much. The way you got mugged by those guys, the way you told me all about it and even laughed at the ms paint picture I drew of your messed up after-mugging face.

The way you thought I was funny. The way we were friends and I never felt homesick with you. This is a feeling I call homesick but it’s not a longing for home. It’s a longing for a feeling inside, a feeling I cant describe and am not sure what it is called. Maybe that same innocence from when I was little. From when I could love people and laugh with them and enjoy life and not feel sick when they got closer because it was all pure and magical. That’s you, that feeling.

The way we joked totally non-pc and you the way you loved that evilness in me.

The way we were never serious and never a big deal and nothing I ever missed before.

The way I miss it now.

The way you never gave a shit about the stars.

The way you were with your girlfriends and how open you were about your ups and downs.

The way I never wanted to be your girlfriend

The way I realise you were a safe place, unlike all my others, you were non-fictional and a man.

The way I would love to talk to you again