who are you, where are you, what do you know now that you didn't before?

I don't know what to say today. How many ways can I express that I miss you? How many times can I explain how you've changed my life? My reality isn't, anymore. The world has reversed and I am drowning in not-true. All things that weren't supposed to happen, have. The things you said you wouldn't do, done. You're so far from me that I couldn't see your face if it was right in front of me.
Sometimes I wonder what you look like now. I wonder if it's much different. Have you grown your hair out? Have you cut it all off? Do you still shave your face? I bet you dress more like a hippie now, because your girlfriend's one. I bet you're just starting to realize how much you miss me.

I bet your whole house is.
If you still have a house.

I wonder if I could love the person that you are now. What if it wasn't you that I saw the other day, engine purring, cowboy hat on? How can I be so certain? Because I knew. I knew. Like I know many things. You saw me, whether you can admit it or not. You saw me, and it hurt.
It's a twinge, that pain. It's a cramp in your neck you don't notice 'til you turn your head just so. It's that shooting pain in your hand when you incorrectly grasp something. It's not constant. It's worse than that. It's surprising, but the kind of surprise that comes from forgetting to expect it. It makes it worse, because you knew you should have known. You just keep thinking it will go away.
It doesn't. I remain. I remain, and move on, and step back, and fall over, and miss you. And let go. And pick up. And cry. I still cry sometimes. I still say your name to nothing, to the air, to no one. I say it outloud to myself when I miss you, when I want you to be beside me, when I say again, "how could you have done this?"

I don't think I'll ever know. And for all your posturing and explanation, I don't think you know either.