Was it love that brought me here.
With you.
Or was it just the idea I had.
That this.
Would be different.

All I have left of my former life.
Is empty notebooks.
A photograph or two.
And her memory.
Written all over it.

No one I know will even.
Find out when I.
Die.

They're just personas.
Avatars and text on.
Screens.

A figment of my imagination.
Projected out there on that impossible.
Perch.

That I can't land on.
Where telegrams can only reach.

No one will give them my obituary.
I'll just recede.
Into nothing.