The other night I was sitting at the bar

Talking to a person who I am seeing, but not dating
Because these days, that actually makes a difference

We were talking about the space in between
Where thoughts happen and where they occur

What I mean is, the thought that inspires the thing
And the place where that thing becomes itself

Which is the truth?
Where is the truth?

The truth is in the space between

Which we will never fully grasp
Never quite see or catch
Hazy, but
It is also in the beginning and ending
Truth lives in all three
Birth and death
Life being, of course, the space between

What we can’t see
Where we can’t see

I dreamt I went shopping the other night
I was walking down the aisles of a grocery store
The light was bright, garish

I couldn’t find what I was looking for
I can never find what I am looking for

I’m the type of person who has difficulty lighting a cigarette
Always standing in the wind, stifling the flame
I strike the flint once, twice, three times before shifting

Trying again.


Tell me how not to be stardust

Because it is all I eat. sleep. breathe.

I want you to tell me how to fade

into nothing

Sink back into that place where

it all began

Before there was you or me

Or sun or sky

When life wasn’t life at all

Not a dream, or a concept

Just space, trying to condense itself

Trying to create time,

Waiting to explode


There is an ache deep in my bones. It has burrowed itself within the marrow and refuses to let. It has moved from my heart, where it had previously taken up residence. There was too much space there, it felt lonely in the wide rooms and sought the comfort of closeness. Sought to feel the limits of its surroundings. So it found a new home. My heart is still empty though. I had thought, mistakenly, it would seem, that once the ache in my heart had vacated, there would be a flooding in of emotion. Joy, compassion, love, excitement, tenderness. They did not come. My heart remains empty. I feel the echoes. Reverberating off of the walls with each beat.

I’d trade if I could. I’d move the ache in my bones, tiring and heavy, I’d welcome it back into my heart, I’d sit with the pain of it. The discomfort. I’d welcome the sweet agony. At least then, I’d feel…something.