It was everything in the sense that it is all you've ever known. But it was nothing in the sense that there were more important things. Everything because it was most of what defined you. Nothing because there were other things that made you who you are.
Either way, it still hurts. You feel like you've lost everything, though, in reality, you have lost nothing. You still have your family, as well as whatever's left of whatever dignity you thought you had. Those things are what should be your everything. But knowing that doesn't help. It still feels like nothing.
You've never been one to turn to the bottle for anything. But this time, you do. The alcohol burns its way down your throat and you're convinced that it can solve everything. Truth is, it solves nothing, and you know it. You just don't want to admit it, because it'll make all of this that much more real.
That resignation was supposed to have meant nothing. You never intended for things to go as far as they did. But suddenly, you found yourself without a choice. Everything came down to the wire. It was either you or the department, and you chose the latter. Never mind the effect that it would end up having on you. They did nothing to deserve any sort of scandals. And you did everything you could to keep from embarrassing them any further. But it wasn't enough.
You set the glass down on the bar at this point and stare off into nothingness, wondering about everything. Right now you have no idea where you're going to go, what you're going to do. It feels like there's nothing left. But there is something. You know there is. But until this dull pain making everything else seem irrelevant goes away, you won't find it.
Another shot. The burning feeling in your throat makes everything disappear, but nothing lasts forever. You figure you should leave all this behind and go home, but you're well on your way to getting to where you forget everything. There's nothing left to lose, you figure. So you remain where you are.
Nothing and everything. Everything and nothing. After a while, you're finally to where you can't figure out which it which. Is your resignation everything, or is it nothing. Is your future nothing, or is it everything? It's giving you a headache just to think about it, so you close your eyes, hoping that it will all go away. At this particular moment, everything feels like a dream, where it'll all turn out the way you want it to. But at the same time, nothing is certain.
A hand on your shoulder makes you jump, involuntarily. When you turn, you find yourself looking into the eyes of an all-too-familiar figure. She has been your everything for so long that it's not surprising that she knew where to find you. It bothers you that she's seeing you like this. You were the one who promised that nothing was going to change. She says nothing, and her silence tells you everything. No one you know is here, but even so, you struggle to keep from breaking down. It feels like everything is spinning out of control, like there is nothing keeping you from falling further than you already have.
You don't notice her reaching into your pocket for the keys you would have reached for had you been left to your own devices. You're startled when you feel yourself rising to your feet, when you feel yourself walking towards the door you came in through however many hours ago. She's still with you, looking at you every now and then as you walk, and you feel guilty. After twenty-five years, there is nothing you can hide from her. She knows everything, knows you inside and out, the same way you know her. And right now, you're wishing that she couldn't see through you. But she can, and there's nothing you can do about it.
You don't hear anything on the way home, though that probably has more to do with the fact that you passed out than anything else. When you come to, the car has stopped; you're sitting in your driveway, and she's looking at you again. Neither one of you say anything. You can tell just by looking back at her that she already knows everything, knows exactly how you're feeling, how much all of this bothers you, even though you've said nothing about it. Even though you're probably never going to admit it. She reaches out to touch your face, and the sudden, warm feeling that spreads through you at the contact somehow convinces you that everything will be all right, even though nothing has been decided on yet.
The lights are off when the two of you finally go inside. It's a weekend, but you've also reached the early hours of the morning. She guides you up the stairs, knowing that your coordination isn't exactly at its best right now, and a few seconds later finds you walking into the bedroom, with her right beside you. Neither of you bother to change. You fall backwards onto the bed and she falls with you. Within a few minutes, she's fast asleep, her head on your shoulder, her even breathing the only sound that you can hear. Shadows dance across the ceiling, illuminated by the streetlights outside, and you watch them as you start to fall asleep yourself, one last thought lingering in the back of your mind.
Nothing and everything. Everything and nothing. You finally come up with an answer as your eyes finally start to close. Nothing really matters right now, not the department, not your resignation, not the uncertain future. Your everything is asleep beside you, and until the morning comes, she is everything you need.