It’s like all of me is being engulfed by your presence, truly immersed as if the nonexistent space between us speaks louder than the words we may or may not say. 

The voices of ‘maybe yes but maybe no’ are torturous when it comes to the love we so badly want to receive. The touch that dangles in the air waiting to be held is stronger than the words spoken by my inner thoughts. 

Who would have known that something so minuscule—so seemingly average—would actually be the thing I spend most of my days waiting for and most of my life receiving. 

One can only hope that by the end of this inconsequential existence we will have enough to make up for all the time lost from this depressing year. 

This intangible thing that I need to make up for is the silently extravagant way we say you matter to me when the words are lost in my wandering psyche. Truly a terrifying experience when all I held dear was taken from me, but I have since learned to appreciate the moments I have when your touch grazes me. 

It’s a gift, aching when not suitably received but flourishing when respectably reciprocated. Each beautiful yet ominous moment before our souls meet truly describes the impending feelings I feel when you stand that close to me. 

It’s like saying you are not only holding me but rather holding all the broken pieces that make up my insanity that you expected anyway. I tried to hide them, but it made no difference.

Without this simple concept—that I hold onto so dearly—of physical touch, I am left deprived of all that calms my incessant thoughts of stress and desire.

The intelligent voices that rattle around my brain when I am not thinking about you implore me to subside my affection in order to accommodate our new world. 

But the echoes that you corrupted speak back to me, begging to be embraced for all that we are and all that we might become. The idealistic idea of right now but the promise for maybe in subsequent time. 

I give into the temptations knowing full well my thoughts are tainted by the aspiration for the nonexistent space between us to appear once more before the clock runs out, and the promise for maybe becomes nothing more than the words we never said.