True, you can drift on a euphoria of loss.
Say goodbye by sampling tracks of former selves and gather the once-sacred objects, stale talismans now, to us.
Realities may come and go like weather systems. How much harder to lose a fantasy.
Here is a presence so full of absences. What now?
The pieces are withdrawing now, withdrawn.
But they leave these ghost traces everywhere, for breathing in.
When you exhale, there they will be again, blended with bits of you.
Stay, friend. Pull up a chair, a stool, an instrument. We can sing about the endless disappearing.