Abruptness

I am speaking to you. I am doing so assuredly and assiduously because I have heard you, and even though the matter of your own speech felt like the crushing blow of a club, I am speaking to you because you have left an indelible imprint on my soul, the character of which I cannot deny is so inextricably yours, so much yours that even though you have already abandoned me (as I am just borrowing you, but not you of course, but an impression of you) your existence will persist and so you will still stay with me, a little piece of you that might as well have been chipped from the heavens. Could I consider it a gift? I’m uncertain of that. You’re trying to look away from me, attempting to step back into the penumbra of distance, but my eyes were once yours (how could these eyes not recognize their owner) and especially in darkness, you are so clearly illuminated, the shadows are beyond outstretched in their attempts to seize your light, but it’s futile, they’ll be stretched to near-infinity; they could never touch your soul (as you belong to me, not them), at least in my eyes. So I am speaking to you. My mind cannot reconcile you have lost this proclivity, as if your association with all that is bright and good has become shrouded, even though the matter of your speech held the proclivity of a shroud, all dark and gloom. I’ve already known I’m speaking to an impression, as you’re actually not in front of me at all, your outward gaze portends the outcome. Yet I’m speaking to you and not a word has reached you. My eyes must have been strained. I heard you right after all. I’ll be going then.