I no longer dream about you. It seems silly to, really, and even if I try, the only thing that comes to mind is the ugly and the jaded.
There are no more scenarios that I can picture us being in. No wishful visits to far away lands, no racing down an empty road just to see who’s a faster runner, no surreptitious glances exchanged over inside jokes in public, no waiting at an empty table while you arrive a few minutes later than expected, no watching a dreadful movie just for the heck of it, no driving round and round the same neighborhood and holding hands in the car, no shopping excursions and waiting patiently while the other chooses which pair of jeans look better, no conspiring over what to get for each other on trivial occasions, no pondering over how cranky we’ll be when we’re old and wrinkly. None of that.
It just doesn’t happen anymore. The only thing I can imagine is running, looking straight ahead, listening to nothing except the sound of my feet hitting the asphalt as I gather speed. When once, I pictured myself walking towards you, smiling and hopeful, I now only imagine running frantically as far away as I can. Away from you.