I'm sorry that my indifference towards your departure has bothered you, because your departure no longer means to me dry skin, chest burning, or hollow shoulders. It's just a departure, with that level of simplicity. It feels like a slimy crustacean creature that gives you intermittent pleasure with every movement until that pleasure spoils. How tedious this departure is. I don't even know why I chose to be sane after your departure, until I found myself lazily inspecting artworks to make time pass quickly.
I should be grateful to my friend Leo, who left me some music recordings that I can say are suitable for passing the time as well. I adore the fourth recording where his wife's voice accompanies the beautiful melody in the final seconds of the first minute. I wonder who created Leo's wife to possess such purity of sound and authentic pronunciation, as if they were making love in my night with a loud voice and a slow rhythm. As for my soul, it suffices with just trickling over the shiny white ceramic tiles.
Your departure didn't leave me bare; life had already stripped me bare before, to the point where my skin became stiff.