It’s like you boarded a ship
that took you out of this universe.
You exist, but only in waves –
waves of data in the sky and in the shit of birds.
You are a residue of a decayed memory,
now ash and fog.
If I no longer feel you,
no longer sense you,
and never will again,
but see only indications of your being
in passing clouds and falling rain,
in pained dreams and cold nights,
do you really exist any longer?
Have I really known you?
Have I really been your friend?
Or is the passed moments of a unity of souls
all but a transient passage of mud and rain
into the abyssal non-existence of the gutters?
I think I’ve lost you.
Perhaps I never even met you.
Perhaps you don’t actually even exist.