I’ve lost so much of myself.  I reach for hydrogen beneath a trillion twinkling eyes and find nothing.  So much of me is gone.  The iron and sulfur and magnesium and neon.  It’s so much darker now.  

What’s left— the things I used to love— sit in me as merciless reminders.  Accomplishments turned to mockery.  My oxygen, my carbon.  Pressed tight and scattered.  Electrons and nuclei falling like the patter of rain on a tin roof.  

It’s so much colder now.  Can you still see me?  Please.  Say something.  Tell me what the point of it all was.  Tell me why I have to watch them all die.