Lack
three hundred and sixty degrees
around me
is blank.
you are nowhere to be found,
therefore I
have nothing left
to surmise about
us.
reaching out
only slights my
equilibrium:
my view of everything else
is now distorted.
no glow shines from the
memories,
nothing else is left
to be lifted
from the disturbances I loved so much.
consistency wasn’t an option;
therefore discrepancy was bound.
let it go
let it be
let it drift away with the wind.
it’s over.
Copyright © Randi Strandberg | Year Posted 2013
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