it is always this predictable way, this human weakness to be absent when those around that love you, need you.
frivolities, self grandiose puffing of ego, addictions, depressions- the reasons are like the piles of discarded shoes in prisoner of war camps. human detritus.
and there comes time, hardening wisdom into agates of grief when you finally reach out your hands but they are no longer needed and thereby, remain empty.

you came again in the night by way of train, steam swirling throughout a clustered canopy of skeletal trees that filtered light from a thousand days of chaos.
you inquired of my well being and i was flooded with infinite space which burned your likeness into the glass wall- a secret language written in fluid yet better forgotten.