Breaking Off

The air feels so cold,
like a damp November day,
before the winter has really set in.

I turned around to look at you,
and though I know you're there,
I don't see you.

Have you disappeared?
Where did you go?

I turn back
and walk down the well-lit street,
passing storefronts and shops on my right,
cars whizzing by on my left.

I think I dressed up today for you.
I think I wanted to look nice for you.
No.
That was four years ago.

Where am I today?
I'm alone.
You're not here,
and neither am I.