A year now.
By human reckoning.
More than a year.
And how much of that without him?
How much of that here?
Trapped, idle, here?
I hadn't noticed.
The days pass by.
I remember my arrival.
And now a year since then.
And what of what I left?
No change there.
Nothing.
Arrivals, departures.
What is my place anymore?
What is my purpose?A year
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A year.
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Pleasant without him.
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But time seems carefully kept here.
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This is waiting and reacting.
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