I feel nothing.
I am nothing.
Or at least, that's what I'd like to think as I'm looking at you from across the room.
Just last year, we were kissing, saying one day we'd get married, saying that we are the definition of true love.
I snorted as I realize that wasn't true at all.
You would smoke as I would take a swig of that weird wine I loved to hate.
I noticed how desperate we were for affection.
So we found it in each other.
How stupid, right?
So that's why I'm sat next to you.
In this cramped car, holding your hand.
"What're you thinking about?," You asked me.
"Love."
