Nov 22, 2018
Illusions
I feel like I’m constantly pouring myself into his cup – and getting nothing back.
I’m running over his edges and into the abyss, and he looks, sees, smiles, but does not a thing to try and catch me.
What a beautiful ghost, what lovely emptiness.
What a gloriously vast expanse I have created between my needs and his.
How far and distant they are, as the bright Sun from the deepest rock on the bottom of the sea.
How insurmountable the divide.
Yet here I remain, gladly and devastatingly giving myself over to the void in the hopes that his glacial tenderness will feel real for a day, for an hour, for a moment.
In the aching hope that some of what I give him will be deemed worthy enough to keep.
