The sting of Erasure, perhaps not surprising but certainly duly hurtful.  Cyber Existentialism. I exist, yet not in her World. One has to move on, and so on. Writing becomes a priority in the aftermath of the non-event that has spanned months, a process falling apart as it comes forward in its Truth. What was there? What were we? And now not even a trace. We have become Ourselves.

Freedom as it was and always will be…

Walls of my heart, chambers of our past, tire as they proceed

In the Light abandoned.