You are walking
between my pieces again,
scuffling about
in your slippers,
making yourself at home
amongst my ashes.

You want my thoughts,
my feelings,
so you pull at them
until I let go,
watch them tear free,
until I relinquish
to your heavy whispers.

My heart beats,
and the ache pulses
with new light
every time you speak.
I wait for the trickle of words,
the tiny flow of ideas
you let me hold,
and I grow
as the seconds flick by.

The ache deepens,
fans out from my center,
and washes me
in warm pain woven from want,
from anticipating
what I’ll never have.

You leave breadcrumbs
for me to follow,
but they only lead me
in unsated circles,
to moments where
the ache is all I feel.

And then you’re gone.
Like always.
Like I expect.

And it slows,
the pain and craving,
they slow.

I live.
I move.
I exist.

Until your bubble of words
pops into my world,
and the ache is fresh again.



3 thoughts on “Ache

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