prove your hypothesis:

gravel…

tiny stones that crunch

beneath my feet as i walk

the path that leads to your door

one last time

bluebells…

that line the way remind me

of the colour of the sky

on the day you held my hand and

lied about death

nothing comes from nothing

you would say with steadfast conviction

such a leisurely way of expressing

thermodynamic law

but then, you never cared much for rules

and yet here we are commemorating

your goddamn conformity

to the greatest law of them all

[fuck you, by the way]

fire flies…

that blink off and on and

off again against the black night

as they dance between the trees remind me:

…we danced between the trees

…we walked along the gravel path

…we picked bluebells and made

crowns from them to wear on our heads

and as i sit here on your front porch

wrapped up in your absence

i wonder if souls are subject

to conservation laws

i hope we meet again

because nothing comes from nothing

not even souls