I wonder:

Do the empty places, the ones where we once stood- do they miss us?

Do the void and vacant hollows weep to feel only air
Where once our warmth kept full and fair?

Do they miss the blood that once floated in their space,
Wild on a ride through little tubules?

Do they lament themselves, so alone without cloth and flesh?

Do they think back to every thought that we once thinked?
Recalling fondly our aspirations and fragile machinations,
Our likes and loves, our dreary distrust,
All the rainbow and myriad of how's and why's
That race around behind our eyes?

No, I think that space is fine
With all the bliss of empty time.

People come and people go,
Space just is. Space won't know.

                    -c. c. Condry