How long has it been? I feel like if we passed each other in the streets we wouldn't even recognize each other anymore. Me, with a tiny growth of gray hair just above my ears and my laugh lines had thickened since I'd seen you last. How have your features changed? Or do you still look seventeen?
Are you still in Los Angeles? Or was it New York? Wait…that was Rachel. It's been so long, I can't recall anymore. I could easily call any of them and ask about you but Rachel is incredibly hard to get a hold of these days. Sam is so busy with the kids that he hardly even picks up the phone anymore. I would feel like a nuisance anyway; like I would uselessly be bringing up the past. You know how depressing it is to see the light flicker out of Sam's eyes, even for just a moment; I don't want to be the one causing that.
I spend most of my nights on the boat these days. Might as well completely move in; there is enough room for two anyway. I could spend every night away from the bustling of the city and just count the stars; replay memories; rewind and pause all through the darkness. Let scenarios flash into my hopeless mind; think of questions I never had the balls to ask. You are just a phone call away, isn't that what you told me (my clothes in a pile on the floor as I heard the door click softly shut)?
Someday I'll up and leave town too – I've heard your stories about Venice Beach and Sunken City. I can see them for myself. But I know I'm better off sitting on the deck of my swaying boat; waiting for you to come back.
You will, when you've had your fill of independence; when you are done searching or you have fixed the part of yourself that was broken. A part that was missing; left afloat in New York. Until then, every unmailed, perfectly folded letter begins with:
"Hello, I'm in New York –
Where are you?