Losing Grip

He stared at his mobile phone  near the edge of the table, willing it to bleep.  He longed for the days when it bleeped whenever  he expected it to;  almost telephatically, he would take out his phone from his pocket  and find a just-delivered message.  Some days he would wonder if she were thinking of him; and a message arrives. He'd send her a message and almost always, she'd reply with a "I was just thinking of you!". This time, though, it was silent.
He knew that things were changing in her life - trying hard to gaining control of her own life, making things work - and he wasn't part of it and he felt left out. He very much wanted the best for her, and he really wanted her to be happy; but deep down inside, he longed for the part of her that meant so much to him.
He took his phone in his hand and thumbed thru the old messages. There weren' t that many of late. True, whenever they met, he still saw her eyes light up, her face flashing the smile. She would still look at him playfully and mouth "I love you" at him. She rarely, though, spent late evenings at work, and even rarer still, spend her time in his room with his company.
Like she used to. He  felt a tinge of emptiness inside him.
Absentmindedly, he stroked her wallpaper picture on his mobile phone. They didn't spend much time together at work, and they hardly thought of each other after work. And he realised that they had begun to spend time at their regular watering hole even less.
He felt the angst build up in his chest. A yawning, gaping crevice, filled with love, drying up and unreplaced. Things were changing.