You're leaving, and I can hardly remember a time before you,
so how could I ever imagine one after you? This year has swallowed
up the whole of a life that I use to have--at least that's what they say.
It's all become one whirlpool of youyouyouyou. Now you're leaving, and
I've become a rootless thing. I'm a tumbleweed, dragging across the ground
in hopes to find something to hold onto. Because you're leaving.
You're leaving, and I hate it so much.