The perishing fear of this wraith keeping and never losing its form is enchaining me. I fear, I shudder to think of it that you will take up the spanless latitudes without even your very presence. That I'll keep seeing you in a beer mug,  in a wry letter of an essay, in a complex maths problem, in an eerie shadow in a gloomy alley, in each and every dour stone by the trains, in the genius of Gavelis' sentences, in the nonsense of any pathological behaviour...
 
   but the worst, the very excruciating thing is that you'll be looking at me from any, from all of them at once, from the cosmic loving face and you'll grin at my inability to turn away, and you'll take the pride in being able to drown out everybody without even your very presence.