The first time I visited her places, they were dustless and clean.

The empty spaces made her more dazzling. 

Just as the trees are made beautiful by the empty space of the sky that shelters them, the listlessness embraces light as its partner. 

On nights when love seemed faded, the empty space of the night sky helped the stars to shine closer to my eyes.

On days when she cried from the shelter of her bed, the empty room helped her black eyes to sparkle brighter than the stars reflected in mine.

Once those nights and days had gone and passed, her places lacked a keeper. 

In the window frame, I stand under pouring sunlight that illuminates specs of dust on each blind.

On the floor, my admiring eyes collect strands of her golden hair, each an escapee from her vacuum.  

On the desk, cold coffee forms a ring around the cup, abandoned as the remnant of the battle she lost against time. 

Her black shoes stand cold and alone, worn and irreplaceable. 

Perhaps this empty space will claim a new purpose, collecting the dust of old memories, and her soul will rise in a star penetrating the empty space of the sky.

Perhaps this empty space in my heart will lead my path to shine brighter, illuminated against her void.

As I replace the blossoms in the vase on her desk, her soul will grow brighter in a star blossom.

On nights when our love has withered gone, the moon will serenade my sorrow as her star watches my troubles. 

The empty sky will not be so empty as she inhabits it. On a rainy day, her tears falling from the sky will clean my cheeks, as her soul replaces my body with love. 

If empty sky leads trees and stars most beautiful, where is a love that has not borne empty spaces? Where is a person who does not bear empty places?