With you gone

I’ve grown used to it –
the music of you
your rhythms
your missteps
the kaleidoscope that refracts you
your fiery reds
your sensual purples
your puzzles
the ticks and clicks – combination lock that unlocks me as I unlock it.
into sublety
into unconditional acceptance.

And with you gone the missteps falter to a halt, the music echoes through a few square metres of cavernous eternity until they are deafening silence; the colours wash out to faded symbols, smeared and poor caricatures for what they represent; the puzzles reconsternate and the locks retick.

tock.

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