by kurashizu
I have touched so many things,
wandered through moments,
tasted the weight of silence,
yet still I long.
I dream of a steady pole—
someone who simply stands,
unshaken,
waiting when I reach.
The feeling of ending escapes me,
the gentle close of a day
with happiness folded in its corners,
with satisfaction soft as dusk.
Language betrays me—
I cannot shape my need in words,
only in shadows of description.
Still, I try.
Perhaps the key is “family,”
that unspoken bond,
a treasure stolen quietly
since the day I tried
to see another as my pole.
Whether a person,
or something still unnamed,
I crave what can steady me,
what can fill this hollow space.
At times I wish
to split myself into many selves—
efficiency written in numbers,
but never in the heart.
And in the dark,
I choke on airless silence,
as if breathing itself
has forgotten me.