the spaces in between.
the pauses in conversation when
we catch each other’s eye
and our breath
and we each know what that look means.
my hands, i now see
like pieces of a jigsaw
where i know the spaces between my fingers
would fit perfectly
the gaps between messages at 1am
i’ll stay awake for in this silence
to see “typing” followed by three dots…
in this deafening storm, you’re an island.
i may have many broken pieces
but without those shattered parts
where would this interstitial love grow,
but within the cracks of a mending heart?