feeling the signs

of being unable to let go.

life finds a way to teach us hard lessons when we least expect it.

when we are absolutely sure we know all there is to something in particular. When it’s removed, mostly. Out of sight, away, distant, far

we then reach out with our arms, like babies in need of their parent, our hands trying to grip the vacuum now created by distance, by not-being-here, by being-away. And my hand is now wrestling with wind, in the hopes of catching something - a caress, a kiss, a smile, that perfume, that laughter, that particular-kind-of-joke, that familiar sigh we’ve always deemed oh-so-sweet

it’s often dim when it happens. Or so I recall - for this time it feels like the first. All over again. From new, from innocence (built upon certainty).

the days are too short - do not go away now

the nights are too long - do not go away now

the nightmares are vivid - do not go away now

the mornings are terrifying - do not go away now

don’t go away now. And not tomorrow, or the day after that.

please make me tiny so I can fit in your pocket, carry me around, I won’t get broken I promise.

I need to be tiny, so tiny it comes close to invisible. Lightweight and portable. Without the need of a blistering sun would be a plus because in your pocket it can be quite dark and I want to get acquainted with darkness again (so I fear it less).

having said this - who am I kidding, besides myself? Exactly. I’m not fooling anyone. Just me.