There were times when he just sat and stated out into space. He never knew what things meant anymore. Time, space, food, parking tickets, rain, sappy romcoms they used to enjoy.
Facebook status: single. Once upon a time there were the words "in a relationship" with your name right next to it, and yours was the same, only with her name on it.
There were pictures of the two of you. A lot. Kissing and leaning on each other's shoulders and just sitting next to each other laughing and holding hands and standing next to each other. Now they were just images. Figures. A million pixels clearly showing what was clearly the past, colors on your laptop screens what have beens.
Now everything was just memories, a bunch of silvery wisps of nothingness in his mind that now he wasn't so sure if they ever even existed in the first place.
Sometimes he thinks if he was really left behind to let the memories live. Now he doesn't know if it was a good thing or it was just too damn painful. Through him, she lives. But through her, he dies, slowly, wasting away.
His wrists were already too sore from numerous attempts to end his... whatever it is he has right now. Existence, maybe. Or a very pathetic excuse for it. But not life. Life required vitality. The will to wake up for tomorrow. But he didn't even have that anymore. His eyes, too swollen to see anything but darkness. His tunnels have no end, just endless, dank and scary things.
Like the tunnel that they last went in together, then it was flashing headlights of a truck driving too fast and a crash and blood and helmets that crushed from the impact and groping for the other's hand like a lifeline but never finding it, so breaths faded and lungs collapsed and multiple organ failure and sadness and final whispered words that don't mean anything now but a numbing white of hospital sheets and hospital monitors beeping ominously and that one dragging sound of the love of your life's heart finally giving up. One long dragging sound announcing to the world of the impossibility of you ever being whole again. One green flat line drawing a boundary between you and any chance of happiness.
Nothing means anything anymore. Nothing makes perfect sense except one thing.
The rhetorical question of why was he still even here.
He clutches the bottle in his hand with a grim smile.
"See you, my love."