The Pages of Relationships and the Winds of Life

Do you remember the scene in Wonder Boys where the author's 1000+ page book (the follow up to "The Arsonist's Daughter") gets thrown out into a very windy space and blows away, and his editor is left running around frantically snatching at the last few pages as it slips into the breeze?

I feel like I'm two personalities, and half of me is the editor, watching this part of my life come to a close. I've only got 15 more days, and it's killing me. I feel like I should implode from the emptiness that I know is building within. He dashes from moment to moment, not caring if he gets stood up for an hour at a dusty little Jazz club if it means he might get just another few seconds spent with her. And when she doesn't come, he goes by her house, to reassure himself that she's ok, although he knows she's fine, and that plans just didn't work out to go to the club, and he shouldn't be surprised.

And the other half of me knows what it means for something to end, and is half-resigned and half-detached from the entire moment. Sitting here, watching the end coming and telling myself "Just don't fall apart now. Let the moment pass. You'll survive. You'll make it. Don't let the placid surface be disturbed, no matter how much turmoil there is beneath."

You could have had my heart if you had wanted it. What stopped you?

What am I holding onto so fiercely? The idea of what I thought I had is dead. But I am not done mourning for it yet.