Empty symbolism.

It's been five months today. Over done with gone.

And now it's not staring me in the face when I need a shower.

I've moved on to recovering from last night's radio station dance party (I went with Ed and his girlfriend, who seems super sweet and they were adorable, two-stepping to electronica around all the people trying to make babies through their bar clothes on the dance floor, and I just let my body dance however the hell it wanted, and I had a great happy very non-awkward time), waiting for my actions to refresh in Echo Bazaar so I can play through a full set tonight, starting the audio book of Zadie Smith's On Beauty while cleaning out my overflowing desk, and thinking about the shoulder of Mike's black hoodie every time I close my eyes (it's short story research, I swear. Beginning vignette about What Happens at the [Free] Movies. A whole series that will make a million in the very lucrative wallpaper-for-fellow-writers'-cardboard-boxes market).

This has been the weirdest five months of my life in terrible ways, but I'm very fucking glad I broke up with BF when I did. Underneath all the angst (you might have to crowbar up a corner of this blog to see that deeply), I'm positive it was the right decision. *stamp*

On a geeky note, during our serious talk Mike said the reason he hasn't written his side of our fan fiction in LIKE FOREVER is because every time he'd try to write, it'd go in the direction of Echo Bazaar's equivalent of what happened between us at the movies.
Our characters aren't us, though. I thought that's what we were pretending when we started this.
And if we can't touch each other in real life, can we get it out of our systems through writing to each other? How much of a pervert would I sound like if I suggested this?
I won't suggest it. I promise. I just really miss our tag-team adventure writing, full stop, no innuendo meant whatsoever.