So I'm not in the greatest of moods right now. Actually, I feel like going to my room, putting a pillow over my head, and sobbing uncontrollably. But we're all adults here now, and adults don't do that sort of stuff --right guys?

I'm looking at this map, and it's a picture of Mississippi, and we're maybe a total of two and a half inches apart. How can two and a half inches be so difficult? I can walk there on my fingers, or she could walk here on her fingers, and we could meet and thumb wrestle somewhere in between for Christ's sake.

The thing that's really bothering me. Oh yeah. I'm going to be completely honest in my wide popular open feelings, because now I don't even care, so just enjoy this brief glimpse into my head while you can. We said we were worried about everything being perfect, and I sort-of but sort-of not pretended I didn't want everything to be perfect.

I could've been lying though.

She has this way with words. Whenever I read her letters, the words don't just sit on the paper- they come *alive* and they dance and they sing, no matter what mood they portray, they always appear to be lovely, delicate, well-crafted words.

Whenever I talk to her on the phone, as seldom as that is, I sit there and listen, maybe even grunt out a few of my own replies, because she just has such interesting things to say. And sometimes, when I come out with random questions like "Name five dead army generals. Go," while sitting on the back porch steps, cradling the receiver, she doesn't even care, and she'll proceed to name five, dead army generals.

Her sense of humor is impeccable. It's the perfect balance of seriousness and humorousness. And we're only two and a half inches away. And I am having to say goodbye to the one chance to hang out with my closest friend, my truest love in the entire world (though she never knew it), and it's like a butterfly sitting on the windowsill. I just wanted to hold it for a second, nourish the thought and idea, and it floated away, effortlessly raising it's wings and gliding into the future, never looking back, never.

She's gone back to her home now. Trying for a simple life. Parents, who love her --missed her while she was gone; college courses and a part time job at the local plant nursery in downtown. She's finally got everything she's ever wanted. A normal life. No more mutant do-gooder teachers. No more mentally screwed older men with adamantium skeleton bone structures always keeping an over protective eye out for her. She's grown up. Doesn't need us anymore. And quite frankly, that scares the hell out of me.

She's…she's so cool. Because she likes Jets To Brazil and hockey games and kids; she likes people even though they've done nothing but treat her like shit since her mutation manifested its ugly head. She's the type of person you'd be willing to move to the dessert in Australia with and watch dingo's fight along the barbwire fence while sitting in lawn chairs and drinking cheap beer in the blazing hot heat. Sunsets and accents and all that jazz.

And I hate good byes. I really do, and good byes before hellos just make my heart ache even more than ever.

I know it's too much to even hope for, but I can only pray that this truly isn't our last farewell. We'll see each other again. We have to. I don't like being selfish when it comes to Marie, but if she doesn't come back to me, then I may very well make a trip to the sunny south myself.

She's my home. My family. My north star. And without her ---I'm lost forever.