i ask my reflection questions
but she does not recognize me
so there is no answer.
“in any case. they were only rhetorical.”
i spill these words into the silence.
the sentence is… nothing more than a mess.

there’s an ache. in the space that was
occupied. now abandoned. hollow.
it is a reminder of you absence.
“phantom pain”, the voice says.
the phrase lingers in the room.

the noise I make echoes and bounces
and tumbles without purpose or rhythm.
yet the sounds do not (cannot) hide:
the depth of the loneliness,
the lingering betrayal.

and so… the pain continues on
in the emptiness that cannot be repaired
in the silence that stretches beyond me
and in the space between the beginning and the end.