When my finger draws a line down your arm,
makes a curve around your elbow
and measures the length of your wrist
and my hand slides into your's
and you wrap your fingers around it
and gently press a secret message into it,
when I lean my head on your shoulder
and my hair spills down the front of your shirt,
when I lie down beside you
and my ear on your chest
rises and falls as you breathe
and your hand on my stomach
rises and falls as you sleep,
it feels like the most natural thing in the world-
How we should be.
(Now on my own, my limbs have become clumsy and awkward.
I have no sense of balance or direction when you are not with me.)

Perhaps it is not that the gap (which causes our hearts to bleed) is finally sealed off for good, but rather, the occupancy of that very vacancy brings with it the suggestion that we have been wrong all along- that the void does not kill us but enlivens us, for without it there is nothing to feel or fill, that the void is what actually allows us to be whole, that pain, is happiness.