empties

in all my searching, the only thing i’ve found that made my emptiness bearable was love.

for someone who had never felt a thing, i wanted to believe that nothing in the world could be more important than the feeling that i was living for her; those affirming beliefs made it feel as if i'd become whole and that i existed as a piece for her; i filled her empties up with what i would have liked to have felt. what i had was nothing, so i wanted to give her everything. that made me feel like i had everything, too. 

i woke up to do things for her i wouldn't do for myself so she could do twice as much in a year, i held her hands until my hands were her hands so she could hold more than two things at once, i wanted to give her more of my life so that she could be twice as alive--so i could, too.

i would have poured myself into all the bits where she was empty so sh'd never have to feel how i felt, but more of what i would have imagined was the perfect life. and i wish i had more to give, because i would have given that to her too. 

the more i loved, the more my heart became veritable, the more acquainted i became with being less of myself and more of her

& 

the more i loved, the less i was of myself. and because i was hers, and i feared she was not mine, i felt displaced and more alone than the words that i yearned to know. 

i felt the things that words cannot say, and i became the things that i could not think.

i am ready to feel something new in my old foibles, filling up with empty or filling up with her plans