She can live.
Without him.
Like she did before.
Without another him.
And the one.
That is about to come.
No one dies.
When someone leaves.
Parents live too.
When the kids depart.
And kids divide.
When the parents are buried.
The affairs evolve.
And companions are swapped.
Life partners may change,
The tracks in the park stay the same.
With the autumn death of flowers.
The grass stays and proliferates.
But deep within.
Within the empty homes.
Within the dark nights.
In between the vessels around the heart.
There is an absent voice.
A missing whisper.
A missing heartbeat.
Life remains and breathes.
Though the quality of it diminishes.
The moments it could have embraced
Are the moments it could never attain.
Yet, no one dies.
Except a voice.
A whisper.
A beat.
