His presence is my medication,
To the radical hollow seething in my soul.
His absence is my realisation,
Of the genesis to my demolished ego.
Gazing at the ceaseless snow plunging from the sky,
I pine to discern his shadow in the sea of whiteout.
Behold the profundity of his eyes,
The windows to his peculiar inner-self.
Waking up to the desolation of my memories,
The only reminder that he was real.
Every tick was a century,
But the absence of his is everywhere I look.
If time were to mend,
I would have demanded an end.