Reading confidently that you live in branches in my mind that bend so low into styx I can't see you anymore

the name I used to write shakes the earth and I fall over

I've been taking quiet stabs at the ghost of you.

Could you be more yourself now than you ever were with me?

I draw the darkest line under your name.

Permanence, stick to my mind

somewhere. Letters I used to write

this word, your name, is a story

a real ending now, is this true?