This is It.

How can you love me

if you're leaving?

I am filled with tidal waves

of anxiety

and emptiness is the only

thing that fills me.

You're supposed to be here,

you're supposed to love me.

How can you

if you're leaving?

As your constant companion,

I can't help but wonder

who I become when

the consistency ends.

You're supposed to be here,

I'm supposed to love you.

How can I

if you're leaving?

And I feel this dread inside me,

building up over time,

because when you're gone,

I'll be alone.

I'll be here still,

in the places we once ventured together.

In the light we once walked,

I'll be crouching in darkness.

Where we sat, under the stars at night,

I'll look up and be blind.

I'll lay in the grass at the park

in the sunlight and I'll shiver.

And I imagine I'll turn to

talk to you once or twice,

but I'll just catch the icy breeze

from your swift movements out the door.

You will be an image in my mind,

a thought once in my head.

Were you even real?

Were you even here?

Were you supposed to love me?

Were you supposed to care?

It doesn't matter.

You can't.

You're leaving.

So I guess this is it.