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
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
Tell me how not to be stardust
Because it is all I eat. sleep. breathe.
I want you to tell me how to fade
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.