Gone.

She says we barely ever  met when she lived in this town and yet I feel her absence deeply. With you, I have spent whatever I can recall of my life. Now, you are actually a thousand miles away and yet I cannot tell the difference. I don't how to feel about this. Sad? I'm confused. The funny part is, now that you are not here, you are communicating more frequently.  I try to miss you, feel your absence and yet I cannot recall a fresh memory of us together. The most hilarious bit out of all is it keeps circling my mind, again and again,  that you actually forgot- yes, forgot, to say goodbye to me before you left. This geographical distance is literally staring at me in the face as you send those pictures of grandly lit London streets. It's almost mimicking the distance that has developed between us over the two years, the kind of distance that cannot be measured; the kind that perhaps, I can only attempt to measure with my words, the words that have become hollow with time, impregnated with the huge void in my life I have not been to fill even after two whole years. My life lacks you now just as lacked you even when you were a 20 minute drive away. The thousand miles don't  make a difference. Many times I consider I shouldn't have given this position to  you in my life ever. I scramble in bed at night because I can't even lay the blame for your absence on anybody. It's maddening, this silence.

At 3:43am

A punch.
A hard, gnarly punch in the gut. I felt it when I went through all our old pictures. You only read about this punch in the gut but I felt it today when I saw the people in those pictures, ran an eye across the room and failed to spot any of those faces around. I felt it when I realised these pictures were from  two years ago. The fist stuck to the gut and ground itself in more firmly. I wanted to somehow magically put my hand through the picture and pull us out here again but we will never be what we were. Now I can't decide if that's good or bad. This exact question will probably cling to me for quite a long, long time.
Some times, I don't know what's more unsettling: the amount of time which has passed by this speedily or the thought that we've moved ahead too far to ever go back to being the way we were. But then I ask myself if I want to be let gone of the same way. I remember my position in the scheme of all things. I see my own lack of power over our time and I also see the necessity of change. So I keep the pictures away in a safe place and I let you go.