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.