Weeping to “While my guitar…”

Dropped you off at the airport for the tenth time this week. Song came on on the ride back to our house. Using these pronouns while I still can. Don’t want the end of this thing we made to be any more imminent than I do any other kind of doom. Do you really think I’m that bad for you? What’s deeper here? What’s the bottom? Why can’t I eradicate your hopelessness?