I Slowly Part from His Scent
I slowly part from his scent,
from his voice, from the chaos—so slowly
like someone leaving who has all the time in the world for nothing.
And I have always had time for nothing.
First, I saw his face,
then his footsteps, and finally the traces—
and my eyes grow darker,
my hair grows nearly an inch
since I began breathing from nothingness.
And that is wonderful.
I feel I have time for housework,
to say something kind to someone who’s dying,
to laugh wholeheartedly at a hypocrite,
and to drink my tea without worrying about anyone’s comfort.
Maybe my genetics are too pure to be passed on.
But nothingness has opened my eyes, and I am waiting…
for Nothing.
Will we see each other before the end?
