There's a lot of emptiness in the universe and none of it is symbolic.

And what did you think--that
you would wait here forever? That
after years and
           years and
              a couple of idle days,
that I would turn around,
flip my hair, and be

      yours.
That space. That one         right there.
It never leaves. It was always there, and
with good reason. Believing in
fates doesn't make them align.
The seat next to me, it may (not) be occupied;
you delight in taking maybes and
turning them into "signs."
Rights are not made of wrongs,
they are made of chances and

      train schedules.
That space again, you must have    missed it.
Rights are made in our heads--
polluted rivers of beliefs because someone
opened the dams and let the town be infected--

   it's such a sensitive subject.