There is nothing but me left
I know why I stayed with you. Because the alternative was loneliness. This kind - the aching in your bones, the starving desperation, asking "when will I be whole again?" And so I wait. Willing that someday I’ll lay myself to rest. Someday I’ll wake and there you’ll be, a warm reminder that life doesn’t have to be an empty cage, spent solitary, sequestered, silent, alone.
So now I lament. Speak the virtues of asserting oneself, not knowing how long I myself will last. When will the hope run dry? When will life take its bitter course? I run up the hill, only to find that beyond is nothing but the same barren terrain laid open, as if to say, "there is nothing but me left".