Disappearing Act

Eighteen months since we last met
Could've almost had two children
You're engaged now, but you're not engaged now

You're alive, yet there's little proof
You're still around according to the news
That we're never ever quite catching up with

You've lost a friend, and so have I
Though perhaps next summertime
We'll bump into one another
In some supermarket line

You never seem to want to talk about
How you're muddling through the days
But it can't be helped if you won't be helped

You're acting like David Copperfield
Except without the captive audience
So you've ruined your big reveal

You've lost your touch, you've taken leave
Though perhaps next Christmas Eve
You might pop your head in through the hatch
So folks can take a peek

There's no such thing as the good old days
It's all one constant rearrange
There's no easy way, no get-out clause
No personal assistant to explain it all in terms you'd understand

Eighteen months since we last met
Could've almost had two children