The joy of a hello kiss that tingles down to the toes.
Reaching out at night and finding a warm body,
and a hand reaching out for you.
All duded up, walking down the city street hand in hand.
The feel of his hand as it firmly grips yours
and steers you through the crowds.
A deep voice, velvety and soothing, saying mundane things.
Dreams of sailing boats, and living on a warm and sunny coast.
A tender heart, reaching out for a safe harbor.
A tender response, wanting always to wrap safely around.
Tendrils of love that weave from one heart to the other
Closing the space that separates their bodies.
A morning 'see ya' with the unspoken promise
That she is not forgotten, will be sought in the day
And missed at night.
And then the silence.
And silence.
“I need my space.”
Hopes and dreams put on a shelf called 'space'.
Tendrils of love shut out in mundane activities.
Doubts. Fears.
What happens when she finds out I am out of control?
She won't love me.
Hide.
And then it happens, and he spirals out of control.
And he is sick.
And he is ashamed.
And he is disgusted with himself.
And she comes to him, and nurses him well.
And he promises it will never happen again.
A very old, stale promise used many times with others.
Sometimes it works, at least for a while.
And when at last she sees he doesn't mean it,
A dark hole, dense gravity, opens in her chest.
Heavy, aching.
Walking, sleeping, working.
Deep empathy for the lost and hopeless.
That's what a broken heart feels like.
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