One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.

At this point, it’s really the little things I miss the most.

I miss being silly with MFP. I miss learning new things about someone else, discovering the things they love and showing them the things that I’m fond of — showing off the “weird American food” as she would call it, lampooning typical American attitudes toward other cultures while ooh-ing and ahh-ing over IHOP, or being told “You sound so Indo!” as I (was attempting to) learn and speak a little bit of Malay. I miss sharing closeness with someone, and I really want that again.

And it’s the most stupid little trivial stuff that reminds me; yeah, I can say “thank you” in Malay (or Indonesian) but I’ve forgotten how to count to 5, and I don’t have anyone to endlessly croon in schmoopy call-and response strings of “sayang.”

I’m not trying to find those exact same things again — nobody could ever replace her, and I wouldn’t dream of trying to find someone who reminded me of her, since I’d remember all of the pain and anger and ugliness that marred our relationship, too — but I want that kind of closeness, the things that made us an “us.”

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