Photography,  Poetry

Black Lace

When he’s away, my world becomes quiet.

Like going underwater, at first it seems pleasant — my senses pare down to only the essentials, sight and touch. But as I sink into it, the weight of his absence bears down on my chest, and my surroundings grow dark. I feel tendrils of panic welling up from the depths, and the missing becomes fierce and unruly.

Times like these are when I know he holds more power than I admit, even to myself.

I claw for the surface, when I know I should just let go, conserving my energy, relaxing into the unknown, suspended in the black.

The water, like lace, encases my skin and pulls me upward offering me back to the light.

His voice is there. His skin is there. The scent of his need…is there.

And I want all of it.

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