They come in on their own, the tendrils of nerves that seemed so deep in slumber that they would not wake. They stretch and weave and make themselves comfortable in the little nooks and crannies of your being, spaces that have rested empty for so long, and once they switch on the light, you cannot stop thinking about them. This is the part that grates at you, that you had forgotten.
Absence only appears when a light has been turned on to show it. And its image flashes across your retina even after the lights are off again, even after the door is closed. Now the absence is an object which exists. You move mountains to fill the void.
And all you find
is that you like the exercise.
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