last winter, sometimes, i would sit outside the doors to a recital hall and muse, heavily. strings hardly touched synchronicity seeing as the orchestras were merely practicing. today i was thinking of you and presume i must’ve wandered there mindlessly--whatever the case, the decision was certainly not one of a conscious undertaking. i stayed there anyways, but this time all was silent. for some reason i did not sense the towering emptiness--only the unknown aura which keeps lurking after me. i feel it everywhere. but it can't be you. you’re gone. and for you, i no longer enter. which i cannot comprehend because i've been left cursed unable to rid mounting insufferable visions. transfixed, interminably. what is the dreamer, but a tragedy?