The Last Thing I Have Is Your Middle Name

Oblivious, Indifference

It's lovely out today.
The sky is cloudy, a dull, exhausted grey sucking up the sunlight
It's cool out, with a slight breeze that adds to the calm atmosphere.
He would have loved it.
In fact, he probably is enjoying it, just as I wish I could.
I realize that he's only a dozen miles away.
He's felt the same breeze,
Gazed upon the same sky,
Observing the same sun set,
Watching the day take relief from
Making light of the night.
But he definitely isn't having the same feelings, he never did.
He isn't holding off on a break down,
Waiting for everyone in the house to fall asleep, so they don't hear anything.
He hasn't been wishing for me to come back for the past five months and five days.
Waiting to go back to normal.
He isn't the one who's afflicted, even though he has blame to take, too.
He doesn't have any hell to pay.
He isn't the one who wards off thoughts that no one should go through over something this simple.
He isn't the one who can't listen to music anymore
He isn't the one who's friends got tired.
Nor did he lose friends over the whole situation.
But he doesn't care