You think in terms of a hundred thousand tomorrows, readily available at your disposal. Like a carefree cattle in a field of green where anything is yours for the taking.
I think in the most apocalyptic terms, like today is out last and there's no time to do anything but love.
I don't know, maybe you believe that all of those tomorrows are there for you to come back to me whenever you please. Maybe you would rather spend every tomorrow by someone else's side. Maybe you want to be alone, away from the herd.
I am a hungry cattle in a barren field. I am starving for your attentions, wasting away with a lack of significance to you.

Apocalyptic? Maybe not, but I'm dying without you either way.