i go out seeking a great perhaps immenser than the void i know.
but you have left as all the others did -- only a few remained. yellowing letters with words growing thinner and thinner barely hanging, loosely against the mouth of the fringe.
it is not enough that you have left. it is not enough that this room shouts enormously with its darkness pressing against the venetian and i cannot see you anymore. it is not enough that i hear your footsteps mince away towards the seep of the door where your departure has overstayed its welcome. it is not enough that there will be no more mornings to delight in - only nights where i scrounge for light only to find that even the things that glint have no use anymore. it is not enough that we have screamed, yelled, bellowed our names at each other in love, now on hate. it is not enough that your once callow eyes are now lion-telling and mine, vulterine.
the arrival is just as swift as the pulse of leaving and now in the next room are so many women, and it does not help that there are also many rooms fraternized altogether, filled with more and more people. the fuller the earth gets, the sicker i become, and the more stricken i become, the more i remember that i have died wanting more deaths.
soon i will find your debris scattered throughout the streets made for me to walk on. a strand of hair, a pair of shoes, a dress you never wore, the telephone like a petrified train in the station of my hollow being, and that it would ring, i know it too well, but there will be a strange voice at the other end that will pierce me back to remembering how you sound and i will take it, i will take it for for the indictment nears its brutal straightforwardness: it will never be you waving at the other end of the street together with the ugly palms. it will never be you in the dress, it will never be you on the passenger seat peering out into the world with eyes beating the darkness of the freeway with the many exploding lights of who you are and what you've given me with what was left of you, and what i've given you amid this thing of being me.
it is never enough. it is never enough that i know this, and it is never enough that unknowing you is longer than how we have known each other when our voices are the only once that dwelt within ourselves.