I miss my Mother. I miss my Father. I miss my Sister. But more than anyone, I miss myself. And I miss the scenery that I walked amongst as I dreamt of becoming someone else.
I still see my Mother. I still see my Father. I still see my Sister. I still see myself. But now he walks amongst different scenery and he's become someone else. And I don't like or know this man as well. He's still in his own quiet hell. But as the years stack up, there's more people keeping him there. They join him briefly and then leave without seemingly a care. They must see it as His failure. He always hoped one of them would let him leave with them.
With the absence of anything, there's sort of a relief, an inner peace. With an absence in everything, there's a part of you that feels nothing but an endless, overlapping grief.