Perfect Despair

Someone has left his mate, he didn't really want to, he had to. And the one he left behind misses him terribly.

Without you, I feel the weight of homelessness, in this, the home we shared. For so long, I made my home inside you, inside your heart and mind. Now, the immensity of the silence and solitude here seems to swallow all sound, movement and light. Each moment that steps into me completely resembles the previous one. I live inside the emptiness of your absence, unwilling to find my way out. This enormous landscape, known as mourning, keeps me anchored to you. Still, I cannot stand it, this razor sharp loneliness.

And so, I walk the streets aimlessly in this notoriously feverish city, carrying my sadness close to me, like some sort of comforting plague. I want to drown my endless longing for you in the beautiful anxiety of life on the streets, to scatter my pain amongst the echo and tremble of their excessive noise.

But the more I scatter my pain, the more it pulverizes me, seed by seed, grain by grain. Abstract, intangible parts of you linger in each granule of my pain, like dust floating in the air. I cannot touch them; they do not suffice. Right now, in my perfect despair, I feel as though I could die of this life without you, missing you as I do.