Shortly before the end
Now its years since your body went flat and even memories of that
are all think and dull, all gravel and glass. But who needs them
now -- displaced they're easily more safe -- the worst of it now: I
can't remember your face.
For a while, with the vertigo cured, we were alive -- we were pure.
The void took the shape of all that you were, but years take their
toll, and things get bent into shape... Antiseptic and tired, I can't
remember your face.
You were supposed to grow old. Reckless, unfrightened, and old,
you were supposed to grow old.
Return. You were supposed to return.