I cam hear the soft tinkling of a music box in the distance. Even through the wind and trees and rain I know the song, and I know it's impossible for me to be hearing it. Hearing it make me think, though, of how long She's been absent from my life. It's been so long, I can't remember the feel of her hand in mine. I can't remember the warmth of her face; the smell of her hair; the sound of her voice. And that, more than anything, recently, depresses me. It depresses me because it's really all I had left of her....and it's gone...just like her......all that's left is the hole she left in me, filled with the pain of her loss...

Identity

I look in the mirror every day, at least once. The person I see isn't me.

He isn't anyone.

If it wasn't in a mirror, I'd think he's just another shattered person, just going through the motions of being alive. Even then, just barely.

It makes me sick.

It's not that I don't know who I am, or rather, who I want to be. It's that I can't be Him anymore. Time, like a river, only flows in one direction.

Some days, I can feel my being try to tear itself apart from trying to exist in two different times and places. He's upriver, rooted in place, while I'm carried downriver with the rapid current. The tether that binds me to him gets tenser every month, every week, every day. I don't know what I'll do when it finally snaps...