How can someone be gone?

When everything that they have is here?

The recording of his voice plays every Friday night on my phone reminding me, "It's cheat day, fatass"

The shirts are still stained with dirt from hikes and runs, lying on the floor in the corner of his room

The gray sweatpants from last weekend still had oil grease on the sides from being wiped after a job well done on my car, remember?

And there's a paper plate with oil-stained ridges and crusts of pizza remains lying there on a desk, his desk

But as I walk to over to the site tonight

I stand beneath a light post that shone with no light

The breeze that brought me here has now halted and heat suddenly creeps up and around me

It is hot, scorching, and sweat begins to form behind my neck and down my back

I look around and walk past the gas station

And the streaks of tracks seem to be fresh on the grounds of the adjacent street until my eyes focus in, and they fade away

The smell of burnt rubber fills the air

And I choke

I choke, I croak from the smells of hot oil and burnt rubber

That have now filled my lungs, my air

I look over to the street again in this heat and there he is, on his way

But the smoky air blocks my vision

And I can hear the screaming of the tires and the screeches from me

I cross over to the street where he lays

Blood everywhere and I stand there in dismay

I call out to him, I scream out his name

Telling him to "Get up, this isn't a game"

I drop down to my knees and start placing my hands anywhere

I start placing my hands everywhere to stop the bleeding

But I can't breathe and my hands, my hands, they don't work

They won't work because they're not reaching

My eyes, they sting and when I close my eyes and open them once more

The smells of the sick hot rubber and the burnt oil, gone

The heat, gone

And his body

Gone

What remains is me in the breeze

Two months later

With the clothes on me and his dried out blood beneath my feet