a man said “what are you doing” and i said “taking photos”

things we care
about,
leave us.

we do not
know
when and
we do not
know
why.

the home
we grew
up in
always
disappears.

people go
away.

when we
care
for things,
for
people,
the absence
hollows us.

the humming
pain
of missing
makes music
of us.

the ceaseless
uncertainty
makes art
of us.

people
leave us
and
they go
to another.

in this
life.
not in this
life.

we do not want
to see them
go.

they do not want
to leave us.

every departure,
also a step
towards
an arrival.

those who
leave,
we do not
know
where they
go.

there are
others,
others
who have also
left,
to greet
the leavers.

they turn
from us
and
towards
the others.

the others,
who have
already
left.

behind us,
not yet
here,
there are
still
more.

waiting.

when we
love,
when we
leave,
we return.