?

Sometimes I crave something that doesn’t exist.

I can’t name it,

know it,

hold it,

hear it,

catch it.

All I can do is chase.

Often I forget that I’m incomplete,

and everyone knows that forgotten things are bliss for as long as they stay forgotten.

But all things come to an end.

Eventually remembering comes,

taking form as a flash of pain-not-pain.

It hurts me to lack the thing I crave,

but it isn’t a wound you can

See.

Describe.

Pin to the wall and analyze.

There’s a gap in me,

something crucial missing,

and it’s impossible to identify

because I’m wanting something that doesn’t exist.

I’m a beautiful, empty thing.

Maserati sans engine,

falcon without wings,

universe minus magic.

Instincts tell me if this thing was possible,

I’d never be able to own it.

Owning such an entity is an impossibility.

It would be a part of you and you it.

To know this thing would be to be real.

Or would it be to be fiction?

Am I the reality, or is it?

In my search for the thing that I need,

the thing that doesn’t exist,

I may find the truth

or at least something near to it -

I am not real either.