Zoso_

It is miserable in this hollow, lonely space, somewhere between knowing he’s in love with me and I am in love with him but also knowing there’s nothing to be done about it.

He’s over there while I am over here and there are miles and miles of thick, dark, unforgiving space between us, both figuratively and literally. In the moment we are each in the other’s head and heart and we are so close and so mentally intertwined, yet rooted physically on opposite sides of this undefined matrix, facing each other with hands outstretched, wanting to touch each other but knowing our fingers will never interlace, not really.

I dream about him often. I wake up in the early, early morning hours when the sun is just thinking about peeking over the edge of dawn and I feel the residual of his breath on my neck, his arms around me, the warmth of his chest pressed against my shoulder blades, like he is there moments before while I sleep and it is the actual physical opening of my eyes that causes his disappearance. I squeeze my eyes shut again and beg whatever part of the Universe that would allow it to go back to that place, that time, that heartbeat when he was there and we were We but the kiss of the sun washes away any chance of that moment, that heartbeat, that confirmation that we existed together.

I have become an expert at hurting my own feelings, breaking my own heart.