the lost man chronicles
the daily chronicle

punctuating punctuation

Just like the tormenting pang of slow minutes passing,
like the wait and the wonder and the exacerbated anticipation,
and the exasperated frustration when a new message
does not appear—
despite my elevator-button pressing,
despite my periodic, bordering on obsession,

I feel.
I feel
her words;
her commas and ellipses and line breaks even;
most of all I feel the spaces though—

The spaces where I want her to be;
The spaces where she is not;
The spaces where I want to be with her;
The spaces where I want her words to fill the void, answering all the relative unknowns
The spaces created by what I already know, spaces that grow with my desire;
The spaces where I want to retire and repose, where no one knows, I am with her;
The spaces where I have grown accustomed to seeing her;

And the spaces where traces of her ping fond memories for me,
and ultimately,
fill the void.

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