empty space

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that feeling

so interminably heart-tugging

when you haven't seen your best friends

in person

for some 157 days


that space

on your soft yellow photo wall

which carries the void of memory

the absence of connection

the garden where emptiness blooms


that voice

heard through the telephone

flooding your eyes with blue light

and pixels

and pictures

and laughter

distant and metaphysical


that breeze

brushing past your shoulders

to remind you that

when that place is filled

you'll still be a few metres apart


a few metres

feeling like a few thousand light-years.

too young to be this sad | poetryWhere stories live. Discover now