I wanted him to miss me in those empty spaces,
in those downbeats,
in those deep breaths
between the present, past, and future.
And I wanted him to see my soul
in cracks and curtains,
in small spaces where light seeped in,
and in heavy awnings
hovering over his thoughts.
And I wanted him to whisper to me
over his morning and evening coffee,
both a conversation and a prayer,
his lips and heart coming together
passing through multiple dimensions
to speak to me.
And I wanted him to think of me —
in passing, in obsession, or anything in between —
until he felt content in those empty spaces,
in those cracks and curtains,
in those downbeats and deep breaths
between the present, past, and future.
.
.
.
7.20.23