Stage of Grief

Not expecting to go so far back and remember the feelings there so viscerally. Not expecting to see the trajectory from there to here, from this perspective, so clearly. Shot from a gun then, and somehow now I can look over my shoulder and see through the hole in everything all the way back to the smoke curling up and out of the muzzle. Hearing again the words that formed you. Remembering separation, starvation, suffocation, bleeding all that feeling, never making it. Never making it.

A history of cold wind through empty rooms, distant laughter, elsewhere parties, intermittent sounds of love not quite muted by the walls. Sitting here, bottomless.