to whom it may concern:
i am having a hard-enough time
dealing;

dealing with this
radioactive decay half-life
i call my whole-life;

every breath sees a proton's departure,
each dilation of the pupil or bloodvessel
finds another nucleus fallen to pieces--

and on, unto infinity.

my decay is your mutation,
is your ever-real evolution of
waxing and waning prospective presents
(future-selves, smiling with portent) in their multitude:

and while there may be stars in yours--
mine is the space between them;
uncountable and empty--
and on, unto some forever-vastness:

the cold hell of spatial separation.