A gray haze oozed through the window behind me, I stare down
at the notepad on the table top and try to keep my hands from shaking, or for
anyone to notice them but me, the last gasp, the end run, the change of era as
we all wait out these last long weeks before the real emptiness starts, the
gray haze oozing in, taking over, like a fog that is not a fog, sealing up the
gaps. We all speak yet not about what really transpires or how we all might
feel when at last she goes and only have her ghost to haunt the place where she
would otherwise sit. It is like a countdown to a rocket launch we already know
will fizzle out, the haze like the fumes of the frustrated stages that won’t land
us anywhere but here, in this place, in this fog, in this empty space – all of
it, a black hole into which all our hopes and dreams vanish, some still cling
to her, beginner he to remain when she -- in actuality – is already gone, with the gray
haze filling the space where she was.
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