Every a, every I, every of. I wonder if it was possible for me to count. Here, in my monologue.

On my first dismal day by myself,
I almost convinced myself that
I wasn’t an addict, much less a human.
When despair began to take shapes behind my back,
some of the light went out of me,
and it seemed proper that I should go to a place
where all the light shone outwards
and none of it was there for us.
Something inside me has ended and yet,
emptiness is not a lack -
it is nowhere,
because it is everywhere.