a few months ago,

 I was lookin' pretty rough, in my jeans I had been wearing for days that were no longer tight, a jacket I had borrowed from my friend, and dark circles under my eyes. It was raining, of course, and I had the worst headache. The wind was messing up my already-unbrushed hair and my eyeliner was running down my face. I didn't have to look in a mirror to know that. No one was by my side, walking on an empty street downtown at sundown. I had just gone through what I imagined was hell. I never thought I would lose, in a way, someone so entirely close to me. As I was passing by a corner store, a black man holding a King Cobra in one hand and a cigarette in the other, looking pretty rough himself, grabbed my shoulder and said "Believe me, beautiful. You can't miss somethin you never had in the first place." I brushed it off a little, thinking he was just drunk, but he wasn't slurring his words or stumbling. Then I laughed and realized that I had been losing parts of you from the time I met you. Do you even know who you are anymore?