The Empty Air

I'm clawing at the air,
at that empty space where
you used to be.
I never looked too close, just always knew
that you were tucked away in your corner
for when I thought of you.
And I thought,
I came first, I will leave first,
so you will always be behind me,
all I have to do is turn around.
But you tricked me:
the air is empty there.
You are nowhere,
and I can't remember your voice
already.

When you were standing on the edge
of that evil precipice
daring me to look,
poised to jump,
or be pushed,
or slip and fall away from me,
I was ready for you,
ready for your game.
I held on to the air that held you,
because I knew one day
I would not see your face there.

But then you stepped away
from that Cliff,
you jumped back,
and I thought my days of looking back
were gone,
thought you would always be there --
as I came first,
I would go first,
and you would still be.

But somehow what I knew
was never true;
you are not you.
The air is still there,
but your breath is absent,
and I do not know where to look for you.