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I Wished for the Absence of Nothing
When things were different, i lay there for long hours, my face to the blank. And because language is the immaterial, i never could speak about the missing. So perhaps i cried for the invisible what i could not see. Doubly, what is it to wish for the absence of nothing? There at the breakfast table as an adult, wondering what to talk about, if he liked my cooking, pushing the invisible to the plate's edge,. I looked up to see he hadn't sneezed. He was crying. Because of our faces blankly, because of a lifelong stare down, because of centuries in sorry. My hand to his shoulder. It's o k, i