In your absence
comes an emotional vacuum.
It pulls things in
to occupy the space you left.
It fills with melodramas,
travesties and tragedies.
Coating my interior,
wet and thick.
My constant search for,
and creation of,
intricate and fulfilling scenarios.
The continual falling,
in and out of love,
with brief moments.
My infatuation with a glance.
Or the meaning,
as she brushes her hair,
away from her eyes.
Hidden from my understanding,
serves to attribute an opposite charge,
as these invisible forces
draw no answers into me.
Memories of satisfaction,
in my feelings of completion.
Contrasted by the superficial.
The temporary illusion,
necessary for me,
to continue to breath
and remain alive.
Skeptically optimistic,
as the play unfolds.