Where We Are

I hear you say something, though I don't know exactly what it is. Though my brain recognizes a sound, I stopped listening a while ago. I can't listen. I just can't anymore.

I turn to look at you. All I want is to see you, your face, your eyes, anything, but your so far gone that you really aren't there. My eyes register your basic figure, but that's all you are, a basic figure. The space inside your outline remains to be filled. It remains to be filled with guesses, with hopes, with anything and everything I used to know but can longer guarantee.

You're gone, and so am I. Let's just face it, there's no room to go back. This road isn't wide enough for a u-turn, or at least, not for both of us, and I can't leave you here just as much as you can't leave me.

I'm stuck, but that's okay. You're here, too.