Now…so far away, I sense you near. Subtle gravity. Absent presence.

A part of me still resides with you. Something left behind. Will I ever return to collect it? Or will this paper cut bleed until I am dry?

Shall they bury me in the ground of your memory?

Today, I cannot say. I walk instead the circuit of your disembodied realm, as though I could still touch you, and be touched in return. Not being with you, I am with you.

And so…perhaps there is no return. Only walking. Away.