Explain to me again about absence?

The ugliest stories you can tell are thinly veiled truths and the rooms we leave gaping aren’t waiting for new residents because they’ve been there longer than we know, lurking, biding their time because they can, because we have none. We hid ours and induced amnesia hoping for the greater good to glow brighter than the moon since we could only breathe together once the sun hit the dirt. But one look at our wounded and bruised feet and paths will tell a story older than anything and emptier than nothing. We reflect and absorb love lost and love absent - radiate human condition inhumanly well. I never promised you anything and you always floated up near the ceiling skimming the limits of the space provided and finding none because of it. The last time we really looked at one another for what we were and weren’t – what we’d maintained all along and what we’ll never express – for the comfort of flaws and imperfections – has been just beyond reach for a few months now and I don’t know if fonder is what I’m growing.