I fucking miss Sjors

Do you hear that, Motherfuckers?

I don't know who he is now. I don't know if you've fucked him up properly, and if he would still be a douchebag to me if he saw me tomorrow.

But there was a man who loved me. I remember him. I remember you, Sjors. Even if you don't remember yourself. Maybe you do. Do you remember who you were around me? Do you remember how happy you were? Do you remember how much you laughed? I remember how much I loved you and how much you loved me. There was something about the quality of that love that defined us both, and made us better. You had the chance to be better. I would have helped you. And you would have helped me be better, as well. Why did you have to fucking choose them? What are you like today? What have you become?

Today, I worked for hours on comments to the reviewer of my patent. It's a shitty job, and I'm irritated because the reviewer has a catastrophic misunderstanding of the core concept and I have to defend against bizarrely unreasonable assertions. I want to call you and tell you about it. I want to be with the man who loved me, who promised to be with me. I want to be sitting in our home in the Netherlands, working on this there. I want you to poke fun at me because I'm irritated and I want you to throw water on me. And then we would have a fucking water fight. And then we would make love. Because I can't imagine a time when making love to you won't be the one thing I want more than anything in the world.

I want to watch you race through those history tomes you love. I want to go hunting through the markets for WWI Antiques that you might like. I want to go on bike rides with you. I want to run with you around the lake. I cycle so much these days, I might even be able to keep up. I go to crossfit and lift weights. Today, I back-squatted 90 lbs, snatched 55 lbs, and did 180 slam-balls. My legs are killing me tonight.

Today, there was a news item about a German spy who was selling secrets to the Americans. Of course the Germans are pissed off. You aren't supposed to talk about what you're doing, are you? It's a gentleman's agreement to pretend that it isn't happening. So here I am, recording your actions every time your group auto-logs onto this blog.

I'm too fucking busy right now trying to keep my head above water, I don't have time to work on publishing the story of us. But I will. Because it mattered more than anything that came before or since. People should know that its possible for two people to love each other that much. From what I've seen of the rest of dating and romance, it's pretty much shit.