I may have nothing left with me in sometime. Three months, six months, a year. Beyond that, the unknown and the imagined merge and stretch into a path I am scared to take alone. When you make the journey alone, the road seems longer, but that’s not what I am worried about. It’s the people I have left behind. Their shadows are cast, long and dark, all along the stretch. Now they are solo, now they are joined at the hip with another. What becomes of us, them? It may not be a bad idea if your worst nightmares come true, this way you’ll know that they weren’t lying when they said they can’t be with you.