It's like getting suffocated. Hands around your neck, squeezing harder, and harder. Yet it's not hands. It's words. Words you say. Things you call me, either straight to my face, or behind my back. Those are the words, that suffocate.
I still look for you at the grocery store. I still search the cars at gas stations. I still hope that we will bump into each other at the movies or in a restaurant.
I hope, and I wish, and I imagine. I play it over and over, again and again.
But every time I make it back to my car, I realize you are still so far away, and I will just have to visit you in my dreams.