Trapped in a bubble.

You are three thousand miles away.
You are three billion miles away,
add a trillion.
Sinew and skin grew over the part of me that you took when you left.
I still see your face sometimes,
but its through a mist,
morning dew drops,
melancholy winter fog,
haze of marijuana smoke.
You are still there,
but you're not.
And I watch you from far away and smile,
as we exist on two parallel planes of existence.

You are three thousand miles away,
or was it three thousand light years.
There is something different about you,
something new, something changed.
You are another you,
not my "you".
I am different too,
and the world is different too.
And we are clutching at straws,
clinging on to abstract notions.
of us.

I see people through a pane of glass sometimes.
Solid, tangible people,
yet through a heat haze,
a shimmer around their edges.
I am with them and yet, I am without them.
I am with me, and in me.
I see people through a sheet of clear, falling water.
Not a ripple on the surface,
just calm,
beams of yellow sunshine,
creating a rainbow like aura around the people on the other side.
I wonder whether I'm the one standing outside a giant glass bubble,
and watching them,
Or whether its really me,
trapped in a bubble,
trapped in a bubble.