The day is, the day is, today is …

it is, it is cold, it is foggy, IT is …

like my soul, is soulless. IT is.

Went for a walk with IT sitting

like a bird on my shoulder.

There was no wind. Like IT,

the air was motionless, silent.

The date is coming, the date,

that changed everything. IT came

and took my soul. It was a cold day,

end of November. A month that

starts with the Day of All Souls and

ends with no souls, ends with IT.

I still go through the motions

of living, I go for walks, I raise

my head to watch the stars,

cook dinners for no one,

stare at the walls watching IT

moving slowly across like a spider.

I still write, read books halfway

only, to the point that I realize – and

I always do – that it is the same

story over and over again. Writers

have to write something, despite

the fact that everything was said,

 everything happened at some time.

The Epilog ends with IT. The last vowel,

the last syntax is perfectly broken up.

IT is.

^{B. Pacak-Gamalski, May 24, 2023}