Absence. The void that opens before my eyes, too wide a gap
to fill with wished more memories, the big bang expanding the universe, leaving
me in its wake, the empty desk, the unfilled chair, the intense stare gone. I
miss it all, as painful as it sometimes was, like the throb of a wound that
haunting me after the acute pain has gone, her music from another time and
place still filling my head, as if I seek clues in the distant past as to what
the future might bring, the way we fill empty space with imagined feelings when
we can find no other substance to put in that place.
Absence. A void inside of me as well as out, the last breath
of something expired if not love, then some aspect closely associated with it,
the not so distanced cousin of it, and the pang left when it ceases, emptiness
plaguing me as I paint into that space images of what once was, and will never
be again, the big bang casting out into the unfirm until it is all too big to
contain in my head.
Absence.
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