Missing

I miss Lyla.

I miss her the way people seem to miss their significant other when they are separated for a long period of time. I feel like I've lost a tangible part of myself. An arm. At least a thumb. I feel the little phantom pangs where that part of me used to be. I try not to itch them because then sometimes I cry, random and ugly, on a street corner or in my office. The tears well up hot hot behind my eyes without warning. Damn it.

It can't be healthy to be this attached to one's best friend. 

I seriously enjoy television less without her. I get bitter over the fact that I have to choose one thing off the menu, because my person who invariably is torn over the same two items as I am is missing. Going out is not as much fun, and hangovers hurt worse when I can't whine to her and hide from the sun together. I bake less, because I have to eat it all myself. Nobody gives me high-fives for using amazing vocabulary, fangirls out with me, or listens to my hyper-analysis, so I find myself less esoteric.

Worst of all, I don't have anyone to call me on my bullshit. It's not often that you find someone who well and truly makes you a better person. I'm afraid of worsening.