Once

you told me, once, of the gas

you spilled while filling your tank.

i think of that every time

i slip the nozzle in, pull the lever up.

Every time.

do you know what that's like?

to think of you years and years,

long after you're gone.

I often say that the English language fails to capture the incomprehensible variety of emotions we feel. This is an example. There simply aren't enough words to express how it feels to be left with such inconsequential words from someone who will never re-enter the picture. I couldn't find the poetry to express the abyss left in this wake, so I just told the truth.