emptiness isn’t intangible like they say, is it?
it’s the way i touch your favourite seat on the couch,
and all i can find is the phantom presence of you that is no longer there.
it’s the way i touch my un-braided hair
and your fingers would never oil them anymore or braid through them complaining that i should let you do it more often.
it’s the way i hold your book of chants between my hands as if it’s the sacred thread of life
and all i can feel is embossed letters on pages. not your touch. not your fingers running between every line every single day of your life.

emptiness is a series of almost’s threaded together with no way out of a vessel that was shut close with an end that keeps magnifying
i almost click a picture and send it to you;
but you wouldn’t ever see it.
i almost watch the movie we used to watch together and crack a joke;
but no one else would’ve understood it.
i almost woke up and called you;
but you wouldn’t ever pick up.
i almost -
ran back to you / heard your name / smelled you in the dying, crisp leaves / looked at a picture of you cutting the cake last year / whimpered your name out loud
i almost -
felt you beside me when no one was looking, where no one could be, saying what no one could hear

and i hold it close. tight. wounded. in a box with a lock with a key i hide deep in a place only you can find.

and i hold you close. tight. wounded. in a cosmically dark void that screams your name deep beneath every layer of my soul.

who says emptiness isn’t a monster that tears you apart right in front of the world?
who says emptiness doesn’t leave you shredded.
who says emptiness doesn’t howl within your timid muscles?

how was i to know emptiness will scratch the thickest walls of my heart like a wolf that cannot be contained.
the walls i would spent rest of my life holding up.

come back. in the bright daylight for a millisecond. in the dark night for a second.
come back. for a beat of my heart. for a whisper of your name.