FRIENDS, aren't we all just FRIENDS (go fuck ourselves)

I haven't talked to you in days. It seems like the end of the line, this time. You usually told me what to do in this sort of mess, but this time...well this time you are the mess. I sit here for hours on end, trudging through the human sludge of the internet, I numb myself to everything and everyone. Sometimes I could swear you're standing right next to me, but then I look and it's just a shadow or a bottle of hair. You can't keep doing this, man. Every time you disappear for one of your little adventures, I go a little more insane. When you're gone I imagine you taking off the roof of this house and peering in. We never make eye contact, though. Lately I've been having this dream where I'm walking down the road near my house on the Jersey shore, and in every dream a 30-something year old man holding his toddler son walks by me. Well, me and my cousin. She is holding a large knife, and we are discussing the film Juno. As the father and son walk by us, the little boy always looks at me, and every time he calls me a different place. "Hey Pennsylvania", he said once. "Hey Bay Avenue". I've had the dream enough times to know it by heart. The only thing that changes is the place. For some reason, the mood of this dream, the overwhelming feeling it gives me, reminds me of you. In the end it is always just you, isn't it? All these characters I create are just me and you in different forms. Man, I wish you were still real. Whatever. Go fuck ourselves.