Running around the edge of an event horizon, static crackling, I never reach the black hole, or it's pulling me in ever so slowly.

After I met them, I thought I'd meet you. It seemed logical, even mathematical, that I would. But I didn't.

And now they're gone with only the echo vibrating, its waves ever-widening, seeking an elusive purchase.

My tastes widened for a while. I found brotherhood in loneliness, soon sought the sun, from one point in the universe to another.

Eventually I heard their songs through the static as a new black hole waltzed my way.

The spinning black blotting out the light like when I was a kid dreaming, buoyant, adrift on the lexicon of physics, where nothing is lost, nothing is without, there are no hands and nothing to hold.