emptiness

My gaze sweeps across the empty parking lot and I see you stepping lightly out of the car. With your long arms you wave exuberantly from a distance and put a smile on my face.
A rain shower clouds my vision, and you’re gone.

In an empty room, the door opens and you step over the threshold, grinning. Mischievous as if you knew something that is still hidden from me. A tingle overwhelms me, my body responding to the surprise. Your arms, which are hidden behind your back, begin to move and so do the butterflies in my stomach.
The mobile phone on the coffee table chimes loudly and distracts me for a few seconds.
The door is closed, and the threshold is empty.

I feel an unexpected pressure combined with warmth. Your arm wraps itself around me from behind and fills me with a pleasant, blissful feeling. A satisfied hum escapes from your chest, goosebumps spread, and I snuggle closer to you.
A sudden pain snaps me from my sleep. Tears come to my eyes unintentionally. Even without feeling the other side of the bed, I know you’re not there. The sheet next to me is empty and cold.

You’re missing.

Longing

A multifaceted word. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to use it, if I really know what it means. And yet there is this feeling in me that can best be described with this term. You’re out there and I feel like I couldn’t be further from you. I’d love to have you near, I want to talk to you about trivial things, want to hear your laughter, see how you move, how you breathe, how you live.
Isn’t that longing? I don’t know, I can’t tell. It’s a sad feeling, it eats you up from the inside out. Yet it is connected to hope.

Yes, I think it’s true, I long for you.