[4th piece of my incomplete book]

The cold air brushes past me
As if it's leading me away from you,
or toward you,
I can't see straight anymore.
It's rushing me in every which direction.
I'm unstable, I'm dizzy
The chaos of living is catching up with me.
I close my eyes, I breathe deeply
My anxiety decides to stay
I dig my fingers into my arm,
I am completely lost.
Not only am I lost like I have been for so long,
but I am physically lost
I have no where to go.
I can't come home, because I was lost there too.
I miss the comfort of our bed,
even if I was sleeping with my eyes wide
Awake for every moment of the night
I wonder if you're out there somewhere,
lost too.
Maybe we're standing inches away from each other
Our eyes closed,
maybe our hairs are touching
I open my eyes,
I am alone.
The fog surrounds me,
It's suffocating.
I never felt trapped in your arms.
If I knew where to find myself I would bring it back to you.
I wonder if you would love it.
Or would you politely unwrap it,
with false excitement, thanking me for the gift you'd rather return,
but can't?
You'd pretend to love it when I'm around,
but shun it once I left the room.
It's not like you can lie anyway,
I have always been able to tell.
You're so readable when it comes to honesty,
dishonesty.
I wonder if I'll even love the ending product,
the final draft of myself.
What if I hate it?
What if you hate it too?