I hate that I still remember you. even though I now think of you, without joy, without sadness, without anger, without remorse
with nothing
and I wonder whether you've taken away everything
or nothing's all I ever had.
and I dream of that lonely substation alleyway. we've never been there together. but I've walked that tunnel of melancholy many-a time alone, without you, after you. and I still walk it alone, with everybody.
was it as quiet when I left?
when you left the planes roared above me. and I screamed tears, I tried to fight it, 'this is my sadness, this is mine'.
white bellies mocked me from above and I understood for the last time, true futility.
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