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,
clicking—

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.

in the beginning .00 daily archives

l.m