A short story
I have been sitting here for over an hour. She hasn’t looked up once. She hasn’t acknowledged my presence. She doesn’t recognize me. She can’t.
It is not easy to come to terms with. That real is not real anymore. That my world is not hers anymore. That she is not mine. Anymore.
A lone tear escapes her eye, and burns a trail down my cheek.
I’m tired. Of trying to make a sense of it all. And getting nowhere. Why, I wonder, does it have to be me? Or her? Or anyone at all?
This story is being edited. Watch this space!