The Feeling of Ending

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.