not my words

Philip Larkin explains my current state more concisely and precisely than I can right now:

Why did I dream of you last night?
    Now morning is pushing back hair with grey light
  Memories strike home, like slaps in the face;
Raised on elbow, I stare at the pale fog
          beyond the window.

    So many things I had thought forgotten
  Return to my mind with stranger pain:
- Like letters that arrive addressed to someone
Who left the house so many years ago.