You were there. And then you were gone. At 18. Who goes at 18? If you could, then I could. And so could everyone else. Not that. Think of anything but that. Think of nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

My feet carry me down familiar paths, to familiar buildings, full of familiar strangers. In a lecture hall of 300 people, I sit alone. Eyes burning from a night spent crying. Numb. Numb is better. You used to sit here next to me. But now you are gone and I, alone, notice. I alone. All alone.

All around me students talk and laugh. They rummage through bags searching for pens and paper. They seek out seats near outlets. They carry on with the mundane routines of daily life as if you aren’t gone. But you are. And I, alone, notice.

The professor drones on. Students listen with rapt attention, but I don’t notice. All this used to mean everything. Now it is nothing. The world imploded and everyone carries on like today is the same as yesterday. But yesterday you were here and now there is just an empty seat beside me. An emptiness inside me. And I. Alone. Notice.

Come on, one more push!

Now I hold you in my arms.

Your cry is music.

Come now, one more try!

Shaky steps and many falls.

I will pick you up.

Bye now, one more kiss!

Bags are packed. You’re out the door.

Blink and you are grown.

Come on, one more push!

My baby holds their baby.

You hear music, too.

And now, one last breath.

Your wrinkled eyes cry for me.

We will meet again.