He said,
With eyes closed and hands stretched out,
He said I can't feel anything but the air between us,
The bitter taste of nothing,
I thought this time it would work,
I thought my stretched-out hands would touch something,
Anything,
Anything,
Any. Thing.
He said,
I can't feel the skin I'm supposed to,
I can't break through your bones,
I can't break through mine,
It's not you,
It's this, he said,
This whole thing,
This hole in me,
I tried to fill it,
Bury it with this and that,
Nothing would fit,
Nothing,
Nothing,
No. Thing.
But the air between us.

I want to tell him,
It's not a hole,
It's not your end,
You will carry it, but you will have to realize,
It's not a hole,
It's not in you,
It's an ocean,
It's an ocean,
Dulling everything outside,
Laying you across its stammering waves,
And you might feel like you're drowning,
And it might feel like you're not here,
But the air between us,
I promise to give it all to you,
I promise to force it down your lungs,
I promise that you will hate me,
But I promise to keep you alive,
I promise you will see yourself through this,
I promise to hold you when you reach the shore,
And I would promise so much more,
But it's not my hole to fill,
It's not my ocean to swim,
I would if I could,
But I know better,
I'll show you better,
There is a shore,
There will be an end,
And I promise all this,
Even the air between us,
Even if it's from my own lungs,
I promise it until you reach my shore.