Without her flowers are just accidents, false pretensions of something that doesn't exist. Without her music is just noise, it ruins both concentration and willpower. Without her children bear impatience, and the world to come is just taking too much time.
Without her there's no fantasy, because what doesn't exist is just a waste of time and what we believe in is just punishing us for having false aspirations and building out of thin air.
She is here and she's not here. Her fingertips hit the keyboard but her hand escapes to nowhere, to no place where I could reach her hand and kiss it and ask her to sit next to me forever, in love.
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