day six without your voice, your words, your mind. 

—were we ever "us"?  all is a wisp,

a filament of mental reckoning 

 a bed unmade, a dream unslept, silent.

what remains of the hours we knew so well? 

where's the reality of who we were?  

only in the words that poured out of us 

so easily, brilliantly, tenderly... 

our words made us real, until they didn't.