Are you? 

Happy, I mean.

You weren't. I wasn't either. You weren't because it was over. I hadn't been for so long; I hadn't ever been myself with you.

Their deaths. The accident. No friends. No job. So far away.

For me, it was insomnia. For you, a long commute. Our circadian rhythms working against us.

"I'm leaving" I said, "I have to go". "When?" you asked, "for how long?".

"I thought you were the one" you said. "Not never, just not now" I replied. 

To alleviate the pain, the guilt. We knew it wasn't true.

I thought about visiting; I mentioned it to your friends. "You can't leave again" they said, so I didn't. 

Every now and then I catch a glimpse of you. You could be happy. Are you?