Driving

Sometimes I can't remember what you look like. What remains is a phantom limb. Losing you was like losing an arm or a hand. Yes. A hand.

There are times when I'm driving, usually late at night, that I'll see something, a sign or billboard perhaps. I'll look over with a smile on my face because I know you'll be just as geeked about it as I am.

But you aren't there. Not anymore. Never again. And my life feels empty.

I know why you felt like you had to go. I was stagnant and holding you back. I always held you back.

I should have been more helpful. Should have been more patient. Should have been more kind. Should have been more loving.

I should have been more. I should have, and now I can't.

Not with you. And not without you.

Not without you.