I thought I could be eternal,
like air or sound or memory,
that I would be a ghost
in your attic forever.
I thought you would keep me,
or be kept by me,
find joy in my movements,
love in my breath.
But you moved away,
suddenly without word or gesture,
left me standing on the floor
in your house, now mine.
You took my place and I yours.
This was supposed to be simple, clean.
And so you became air,
sound, memory, nothing at all.
Eternal.