Missing
You will admit it (at some point), though you expect ashes as remainder, instructions left, someone else deciding to spread you over a place sticky with meaning—that you still cringe at the thought of immolation, this soul business hard to shake from the fleshy nature of feeling. And it’s not the idea of lights-out trapped in a timeless thought, stasis at the cold end of the zeroth law, or the end of grappling with a nothing that has no point of view. It is the Blank left in place of your earthly Love, unable to feel what you’d miss in the embers of its absence. Kevin Swanwick, September 2025



Very Powerful and Deep!
Touching thoughts, love it.