On Missing You.

No, none at all.

That burnt smell from your body after spending too many hours in the sun,
That scar from a paper cut,
The pile of dishes in the sink,
That bad haircut,
Stains on a glass table,
Graphs and Numbers,
Roofs of asbestos,
Hanging of dream catchers,
Flickering of live wire,
Abandoned terraces,
Wet sneakers,
Footprints on the wall,

None at all.

Did you somehow have a faint memory from any of this?
Nothing needs to mean anything all the time.
Pulling out of focus, and holding ourselves by ourselves.

I realize, no,
there is no meaning at all.


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