You feel so near, yet I cannot touch you. I long for that, for you to touch me, for me to touch you.
I’ve been sending my love to you on an electric cable of thoughts and wishes and memories, hoping you feel the energy pulsating through you, as it does me, when it reaches the space where you are. A space which feels so close now. A breath away.
Sometimes, just sometimes, early in the morning, when I am very still and there the birds pause in their song, I can hear you getting closer and I am held. It only lasts for a moment and then you are gone, as though a gust of wind has carried you away. And my heart breaks a little more, tiny cracks form adding to the cumulative devastation I already carry, but it is worth it to have remembered you, to have felt you close.
I still have moments when I forget, brief moments, almost unquantifiable in time, yet long enough to allow my gut to rise so upon remembering it feels like it has been pulled into an ocean so deep that I am drowning in the memory that you are no longer here, no longer mine.
Time means nothing in this, though I know an age has now passed. An era of knowing that you will never return to me. Sometimes I think I have managed to find space for you in my life, space big enough to keep you with me, as you are, as we are, yet small enough to allow myself to hold space for others too. Then, even after all this time, there are these moments when you arrive so completely that I have no room for anyone but you. There is no space to let another in, even just to share my grief, my heartache, my despair in remembering that we will never be whole again (or how I perceived us as whole).
Shockwaves send destruction through the denial I have been living in. A denial that told me I was fine with you gone. A denial that made me believe that I could move on and forget (or at least move on). A denial that assured me I am no longer in love with you in the all-consuming, nobody-else-will-ever-match-up, you-are-everything-to-me, life-isn’t-worth-living-without-you kind of way. A denial that quietly settled me into an unaware belief that you can one day return. Then, shockwaves.
I remember that night when you kissed me on the top of my head as I sank into your embrace having poured my dark, weary soul out to you. No more words were needed, no extravagant displays of affection, just one kiss and your arms wrapped around me. I was home. We lived there a while, you and I. Then you were gone.
In those moments, those brief, life-altering moments, when I feel you near, I return there. Home. And in every second outside of this I am longing, searching, hoping for your touch, your embrace, your unyielding faith. I am longing for you. I am longing for home.