Provide

 I recall the sound. Something deforming that shouldn't, wasn't made to. I felt it more than I heard it.

A shriek to mark the end of intention.

A void now and it seems as though the rest of your life should rush in and fill it up 

like a bucket you finally pushed all the way under the surface.
A void still.

You sense it. 

Spectral, maybe, and abstract, but you know all the same : there's more behind you than before.

A few of the attendants who knew him better than you shake your hand and search your face longingly for that last glimpse of someone else's shadow. 

Gone but not forgotten, gone but not forgotten, gone but not forgotten. 

A desperate mantra. People in need of relief.

Something obscene about that : gone and who the fuck knows where or why? 

Lets not know and be relieved for that.