You were once a scared soul
trapped inside a child's fractured imagination;
driven to believe
only the best truth lies could tell,
driven to want
that which you could not have,
and driven to love
all that came too easily.

If only there were a god greater than fear,
we would have won by now.

You packed your things in an orderly manner;
made no fuss on your way out--
no, we barely heard you leave at all.
And then one day,
things were stranger than usual:
a note in your place,
but the pages were blank;
your name, a trace
etched into our wall
as if to say, "Don't you recall?"

And I can't say we do,
though it occurs to me
from time to time
that somewhere
you are waiting
for a day that won't arrive,
biding your time
and regressing forevermore
into the empty abyss
of no recollection.

No, we barely heard you
leave at all.