about the space

I miss you.

my solitude streams fom me

in words I cannot catch. they fall about me

in all directions, wildly, teasing,

my hands grasp at air,

and while wishing for the perfect metaphor

that would guarantee your return, I instead

write about the space- this gaping hole- how it felt

at first: soft, feigning comfort,

just what I wanted. but when I closed my palm around it

tasted it, knew you were gone in all physical aspects

it felt quite different. I wanted an end to this aforementioned

comfort. I did not want this oxygen all to myself,

I wanted to share it, even if that meant giving it up for you-

wanted to be caught in another time, if only it meant

that more time promised some form of together.

but,

I cannot write together, cannot recall with words exactly

who you may have been. so instead I will write about the space

you left, while your image retreats into my subconscious

like a shadow

in the night.

I can almost hear it whisper

as it leaves:

I miss you, too.