This old heart of mine,
Still hurts.
Every niche, nook, drawer, untucked clothes and shadow of it
Aches.
A dull, ferocious aching, too.
The kind that makes you stay up stumbling through the night savagely, hands outstretched and weary,
Trying to find an answer through your blindness.
I am not alone.
I have one friend and my books.
But the trouble with one friend and books is she isn't always there and the books eventually end.
And when they end it hurts.
It hurts so badly that you stumble through the night
Aching to be whole again.
Aching to read it for the first time once more--
Where things were exciting and new and beguiling.
But now the feelings settle, sequester in your mind and puddle in your heart nostalgically and all you can do
Is ache and reminisce and keep looking.
Keep searching for the next book to catch you and your friend to come home
And things to work out.
Always, to work out.
-k.p.
April 6th, 2017
Thursday
2:00pm - still in bed aching in a full and vicious hangover of a book (the best book the whole world) and waiting for heaven knows what.
