when you breathe the respiration of the passion that you once inhaled
it somehow reminds you that you still are on the trail
the scent, the surroundings, as the heart entails
to tell the story of something more than just a tale

if there wasn't more, or if it got lost in the concept
of who we are, who we will be or who he wasn't
we can still accept the final "he who doesn't"
because to do to not, is more perfect than to not be absent.

In the presence of who had wanted, still wanted, and still go wanting