I think we've all just got to accept that there are holes in us. That we were born full and they appeared over time. That the universe takes things back because it needs to. Maybe there isn't another reason than that. We spend so much of our lives trying to fill these voids. We won't look at our own and ignore the ones in each other. Buy more, drink more, watch more. One day you're going to have to stop pretending they aren't there. If you really want to live, you've got to stop trying to analyze why these holes exist and stop trying to figure out how to make them shrink. Roll the windows down when you're driving and let the wind blow through them. Breathe and let the world keep spinning.
I still remember you as a little girl who overwaters plants because she doesn't know when to stop giving.
So I perversely circle the late stars, drowsier and drowsier, sleepily longing for something.
I think of rivers, of tides. Forests and water gushing out. Rain and lightening. Rocks and shadows. All of these are in me.
Oh Love is a journey with water and stars, with drowning air and storms of flour, Love is a clash of lightnings, two bodies subdued by one honey.