I don’t know what happened to us. We were an us, once, in a far-off time, and in another place. We were one, and now all that’s left is you, and me. I’m here, and you’re there, and there’s a lifespan of distance, both physical and emotional, in the middle of what used to be us. A yawning ache of emptiness that fills the gap between us, but doesn’t fill. Instead it leaves me with a feeling of missing.
I miss you. But I’m not sure if it’s you I miss, or the memory of who you used to be, or if it’s the memory of an us. We used to talk about nothing - all the nothings that meant something, something that grew into everything. We talked until hours turned into days, and days into months, and months into years. I’d thought we could have talked for forever, because even though I grew apart from people you were always somehow by my side, keeping the conversation going long after I thought I’d run out of words.
But now - now I look into your face with a shock of slow awakening, and I find I have nothing. No words at the tip of my fingers, no response ready. The conversation is drawing to a close, and I don’t know what to do except stare, helplessly, speechlessly, as it wraps itself up.
