One year of without



There are some nights that the thought of you or even your name do not leave the sleeve of my shirt alone. It pulls like a kitten. Tonight is like that.

I no longer question if it is you trying to reach me, to communicate. I am flooded with desire to see you. To hear your voice. To pretend for a while that nothing went wrong. That it is all as it was before, undisturbed, unbroken, and unreal. That you and I are one; a living, breathing space.

I am typing without really knowing what the words are or what they convey. I miss you deeply. Some nights it wakes me up and makes me sad with the reminder that there is nothing I can do about it. Nor you. Here, helplessness is greater than circumstance and reality is bigger than hope.

Despite that I remember that happiness is simply a measure of things. In your absence one year is nearly over and my life has become leaner. My bookshelves are heavier, my sleep is thicker, longer, more lingering. And my hands more open. Perhaps that is what brought you here tonight, pulling at my sleeve. Not letting me sleep.
Thank you for that.

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