A Psalm of Lament in The Hilary Letters

Going into your room I find everything just as quaintly undone as I’d always imagined it to be. Empty bedsheets coiled in directions that are unfamiliar to me, but in a way that I can draw an image of you rising from your bed.
Unimagined are all the things I thought I knew, or felt for sure I would find, but couldn’t and didn’t. There was an excitement and estrangement.
The excess of hopes were driven into the waters. You suddenly became a Christ-like figure to my wandering mind, the deranged man in the graveyard; the mislead and impure cast into swine.
I sat at a chair before a small vanity, outside in your yard evening was coming. The light through the thin, pastel pink curtains over your only window exploded and illuminated all of the chaotic lines that were your lightly worn and freshly cleaned clothes strewn in numerous patches.
I found there, that there was no place for me in your life. All that was dreamed was just that.
Dreamed.
Through the photograph of which I was looking, you finally became a whole person. But a person I did not know anymore.