9.7i am but a weary passengerwondering whomight be missing me - nobodycan tell whether this is just a famineor an infestation,it's strange how that works - here,maybe you are lying beside meor above mebut i am suffocating - love'snot one of those things that you can forget easily, not quite like - me.
absencesbut this isn't just distanceas in space, not just distance as inwhispers of,"i can't believe how far youare from me, i miss you" -this isn't just distance in the way that roads seem to spill over hilltops for years,stretching like skin across knucklesbut never ending, no.this is the kind of distancethat isn't seen but instead felt,that isn't marked by miles or gas money and can't be pinned in two spots on a map with red thumbtacks:this is not hearing from youfor daysand knowing you haven't noticed.this is wanting to have youbeside meand knowing you're just fine alone.this is the kind of dist