Dear Blue Cupboard,
This seems so silly, I can't believe I'm writing to you like this, but somehow it makes sense too. Maybe a blog post or an email is the 21st century version of sending a letter up the flue? I don't know, and I guess it doesn't matter. The point is, I miss you. Terribly. Your absence leaves me achingly, wretchedly alone. I don't really know what to do with myself sometimes, all I want is to have you say one thing - just one thing - back to me. Sometimes I think if I say (or write) bad things, things you wouldn't approve of, maybe you'll send me a signal - any signal would do - and at least I'd know you are there, somewhere. But that's just it, isn't it? You aren't there. For fuck's sake, why aren't you there? Why? For the love of fucking everything, why are we - all of us - denied you? This really isn't fair, or right or anything. I just want one moment, just one split fucking second with you again. Is that so much to ask?
You had a look in your eyes sometimes, often in the last few years, like you knew that I was squandering my time. Did you know this was coming? I hope not. I think sometimes you worried it would, but I hope you didn't dwell on it too much. It's a funny thing really. I find myself alternating between missing you so much that I wish you could see us, even though you're gone, and worrying that if you were able to see us, you'd see how much we we're all suffering and that would be the worst thing in the world. I hope you didn't think this out too much - who am I kidding - I know how vivid your imagination could be, and I'm sure you imagined a million terrible versions of all this. Did you think about what this would do to me, and Annabel and Ella, and our folks? Did you see all this? Was that the sadness in those sweet blue eyes? I really hope you didn't dwell on it too much. After all, that would hurt you more than any shitty tumour could. Isn't that ironic? No, I agree, fuck that.
I miss you so much - it hurts too much - I just can't bare it. I love you so much. I just turned over the record again... I skipped ahead to "You don't have to cry". Remember how we used to laugh about this song, the hippy-dippy lyrics about "living a reality blah blah blah and telephones" and all that shit. Christ on a bike, who will stay up all night with me and talk about that sort of nonsense now? You've left this enormous hole in my life - in our lives - and how the buggery bollocks are we supposed to fill it? There's just no way. No way. I don't even want to think about this - about you - anymore, but can I stop? Can I fuck. It's just the most achingly lonely feeling, not having you in the world. It's just so wrong. and even worse, there is no making it right.
Oh fuck,
- Mr. Ed
