It’s been a while since I’ve seen your face, since I’ve written words that move my soul. Others may sway, may swoon at my tepid prose, but I remain resolute in my stillness. It’s no coincidence. Your presence opens the dam for the life force to flow through and without it I run dry, barren.
What’s worse is the absence is no fault of your own. It is I who push you away. Not the person of you but the thought of you. Your once freely conjured spirit, firmly tethered to mine by time and fire, must stay buried deep inside. For the emptiness I feel when the rush of you retreats is far more suffocating than the steady loneliness that accompanies your absence at large.
Maybe tomorrow I will be stronger. Maybe tomorrow I will hear your voice at my ear and welcome the shadow of your presence and my soul will rise and the words will flow.
Maybe tomorrow.