There is a wrinkle in time-
In my time line-
Where life skipped chapters in my book as easily as a remote can fast forward a movie.
Time just simply jumped from when he was here
To when he wasn't.

There was no intermission,
No curtains fell in my dreams to warn me there was 30 minutes, an hour, or maybe a even little longer till our ending.

Our bed comforters bunched in waves over the space when he left as if covering the answer of what had happened to him and
No amount of ironing and flatten them could bring those lost memories back.

My hands had never packaged brown boxes
full of our furniture, of our memories, of our future and
Constricted then with masking tape.
My tears never mingled with the sweet summer sun as I stood outside and watched him leave.

The lights never come on at sunset anymore when I walk by his porch,
Similarly to the lights never come on in my eyes.
His home is vacant (of his presence)
In the way I am empty (in the absence of his entity).
He is gone.

The line of my life has transformed from a seemingly endless string
To one that has now been cut down the middle and a
Knot has been instilled in place of the stolen time between
When he was here and
When he is not.