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Wooden Box, w.j.s.

Date Written: September 9, 2017

I thought if I saw you, it would soften the lump in my throat. I thought that if I told you how much I miss you, it would dry the tears in my eyes. 

I've never missed you so much. It's so large, it's tangible. 

I could nearly make it into something. An orange, fresh cut. The taste lingers in the air and overrides your senses. 

Missing you collapses me. Even when the tears start to fall and I tell you of my ruin. 

You don't have to say it, I see it on your face. Miles and miles away, I see you as clear as day. You are as devastated as I am. 

We both need to go, to sleep. I tell you how I love you, and wish you peaceful sleep, then I press end. 

But for the first time, through the fire did not deliver me to relief. They say the best way out is through, but not tonight. 

I felt absolute despair, like a hole in my soul. I wasn't even close to liberation. I was sinking, attached to my anchor of emotion. 

I wasn't free. If anything, I'm more tied down. Tied to you. 

Straight through the pain, to gain control and understanding. But tonight, I'm not warm. 

You are my only warmth. 

Empty. That's what I feel now. I have a hole in my being.

A vacancy, awaiting your return. 

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