Insignificant

"It will only be a problem, if you fall in love, Jo said.
I laughed. I didn't mean to do it, and anyway

It was never love.
Still, like pine needles under the chair in August, you remain.
Pale strands of your hair coil in bookshelves, around cushions.

I have loved before, and screamed at the loss ' this, is not love.
You are gone, and I am silent.