from the edge of the deep green sea

Another year slipping by, and nothing to show for it but a different paycheck. I live each day the same as the last, quietly obeying its dull and lonely routine.

I've stopped dreaming.

I grasp at the little shreds of hope I still have that surround him, but they are slipping quickly out my fingers. I ask myself each night as I stare at that bed for 2, but containing only 1, "How did I end up here?" Maybe one night I'll be given the answer.