TTTYG/TTFN

I fear that catch-22, the compensation
for insisting on what joy we presently have:
Those years when cataracts
will caulk my eyes,
cobwebs illuminate the dust on the furniture
and the gone-ness of my mind. Those years
when I will not remember that you have been gone
for such a long time now
but somehow still feel the sensation
of being so very alone.

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