my ever friend

by Lara Zeng

already, in the waning shine of this ephemeral season
i see the absences where they do not exist
now fattening
now so void where a stranger was once light.

i imagine that
her hologram shimmers in the dusty corners
penned in to her knees by pages
which rustle, gentle and silent, out our doorway.

her turned shoulder, my whisper by
her hair, the hum of her laughter--imperceptible
low and steady--
stumble silver round our stairwell.

lying awake now, i swill
my black and lonely theory
listen as her manners, eternally fading,
wedge the year between us
into the perfect gap of her empty frame.

who is left now?
in this world i care too little to speak first
while we remnants dust the corners, sign our names

in this world i watch from the top bunk
paralyzed in my skeleton
ankles trembling to--

i do not repeat myself.
the year multiplies
the trees turn
the remnants and i leave this room.

when she finally arrives through the doorway,
i bring her wrinkled smile to her.

after all this time it
wasn't mine to save.