I can't imagine life without you, but nor can I bring myself to envision my future with you as a constant. To even think of incorporating another into my destiny is like nails on a chalkboard; the suffering is indescribable. And yet, loneliness holds an equal and opposite pain, a pain that is not salved but rather heightened by my constant imaginings of the agony of losing you. Will it be you who leaves, I wonder, or I?
I could tolerate leaving you, I think, better than if you left me; whatever comes, I can bear it if only I'm the one who made the choice to. And yet—and yet—and yet—I find myself flinching, every time. The thought of your beloved face twisted with sorrow, you who have always been so tender to me wracked with betrayal—I could steel myself to that, but what, if I did, would I become?
Darling, I miss you. Come home.