The way out is through the door. Why is it that no one will use this method?

When I poured water into the teapot I could smell the perfume of violets The scent permeating into the space of absence of what was here today and what was present yesterday filling this moment with such delicious delicacy replacing the icy emptiness of loss and longing with a fragile hint of spring and summer just around the corner The short sharp rain shower does not a winter make as this delicious fragrance twists itself around the desolate room with the vacated beds and stripped-off sheets nuzzling the pulled down blinds as if to comfort the dispirited with a whiff of the ungraspable

I would rather die of fire than of void.

Nobody speaks to me. People fall in love with me, and annoy me and distress me and flatter me and excite me and—and all that sort of thing. But no one speaks to me. I sometimes think that no one can. Can you?