The Emptiness

The pit. It’s there. I can feel it in my every breath, taste it in the very air that sustains me.

I know I want to find you, to meet under the pines. We’ll sit chatting while listening a mountain stream as it passes, softly throwing tiny shore-borne pebbles into its waters. We’ll tell tales of a journey that led us to the place, of streams we once saw, of pebbles we once threw.

I want you here, your head laying softly on my shoulder, our fingers entangled and our hands clasped. I want to feel your breath on my skin. I want to hear your sigh as my fingertips draw lines on your naked back, teasing you onward. I want to stop you in the middle of a sentence, diverting your attention and shattering your focus with nothing more than a touch,

Yet here I am on this stony path, talking to myself about things that hardly matter. I admire the woman walking toward me, and acknowledge her form and her smile. She is not you, however, so I keep walking. Desires of the flesh can only take me so far, as I am a connoisseur of a truth few chefs can prepare.

I sit alone besides the Boulder creek, watching with joy the couples in love, seeing pleasure in people riding tubes down the crystal-clear currents. Next to me is nothing, just an empty spot where the future lies in a lonely present. My heart screams for you as my mouth stays silent. Only the ether, that lonely space between us, knows my truth. That is as it is supposed to be.

I want you to move, but I say nothing. I want you to hurry, but focus on patience. I want you to know, but can only hope your eyes are open to such discovery. Instead, I’ll sit alone, whispering to the leaves, praying to the wind, and longing for a sun shared with you in a morning climb, a night together making love under a loving moon. All things in their time, everything in its place.

The emptiness speaks to me. It knows I understand each and every word. It once was my foe, and I battled it with random companions, hollow words and meaningless rituals. I once demanded the emptiness be filled, and I needed to change to see it gone. I needed to be different, I needed to be “fixed”. I needed to be loved. Together once meant everything to me, and I once fought hard to keep it next to me. The more I fought, the less “together” I would become.

Now, the emptiness is my friend. It is sacred space, left open for you for that moment when you choose to arrive. Each place next to me is hallowed ground, empty to all but the truth of who I am. My hand is now a holy vessel, empty but for the most cherished of things. I am empty, and waiting, for you.

Your name is unimportant. That is best left to soothsayers and whatever guides us to each other. Your face, it’s there but I just can’t see it. Your word are written for me on some eternal stone, just waiting to be read. Your body is waiting for my arrival, as are the waves of pleasure wanting so desperately to break upon our shores. I hear them, and feel them, calling out my name.

If I do leave this earth, the space beside me still empty, my hand outstretched to nothing but the air, I will come back for you. In some way, in some form, in some crazy manner, you will see me and you will know. I will not leave this place without reading your words upon that stone, tracing their curves with my fingers, playing with their meaning in my mind. I will not leave until you shout my name to the heavens above. I will not leave until our screams of ecstasy move birds from their perch, and serve notice to all things, that Love cannot be beaten. I will not leave until the emptiness is filled, both yours and mine, with something equal to its cause.

Make your way when you are ready. I will be here, tossing pebbles in the stream.