I will go no more, because it is not me alone who can help—or perhaps me at all.
I will wait no more, because it is not coming. Perhaps it never left to begin with.
I will not want it anymore, because it is not mine.
Yet it is all around despite going or not, waiting or not, wanting or not.
I could see it in the sunrise and now in the sunset.
It is no small comfort, though it seems a thousand words away—a thousand pictures gone—yet still here in what can seem like taunting. Except in the living, vibrant emptiness.