It will be for the best.
I'll find someone elegant and all done up. Not nearly as beautiful. I will take her out to dinner in fancy places. She will admire me, and not ask questions each worth spending a lifetime answering. She'll call me Gil. I'll be naked with her in a bed. I'll never feel stripped down when she looks at me. I will cite Sheakespeare elegantly. Because words will not disappear all of a sudden. We will go to places together. She will have her arm tangled in mine. I will oblige as she drags me into the light. It won't be half as bright as a smile I remember. People will say I'm happy. I guess I'll be close to happy. One morning, on a day like any other, she'll call me Grissom, for fun. And I'll never have been as sad. Because in the end...I am your man.
But I know it will be for the best.
You will go. You'll believe you'll never love anyone (but you will). You'll believe you loved me (but you won't have). You'll spend months gathering your pieces together. Crawling as we used to crawl, in the dark, as we used to be, always looking for something, not quite knowing what it is. You'll start yoga; who knows, maybe something else. But you'll start something. Maybe you'll cut your hair short. Day by day it will grow back. Day by day you will grow back. And one day, on a day like any other, walking through the park, you'll see them, bunch of kids playing baseball, on a summer morning. You will stop for a split second, the faint remnant of something brushing over your face. The sun will be shining on your hair. Tears will threaten your eyes. But a hint of light will eventually take over your lips, urging them upward. At that moment you will forgive, and you won't look back. You'll fight, you'll love, you'll live. Because in the end...that's my girl.