Presence And Absence

At once I feel alone and somehow comforted. Without this presence I've grown so accustomed to I have some emptiness inside that is both unexplainable and explained. I am balancing, like a good Libra, between those things that I need to do and those that I wish for. I'm waiting and constantly convincing myself that I should. That I need to wait, to fight, to make this thing worthwhile. What if that is not my choice to make?

I wake up and hope, I drift to sleep making wishes. I exist, in some sense, between the times I sleep, as a functional body. I move and work and laugh and watch myself from some third person view. I am going through the motions of life so life doesn't forget I'm here. All the while, distracted and meditative.

Such presence. Such overbearing power in the memories and the dreams I've had. Yet absence, like some wasted city block, stretches out in front of me. I have no control over it. I have no recourse from it. It is part of me, even the functional me. Behind every laugh i miss her lips. Behind every smile i see her face. Behind every conversation I am listening to her speaking. Some simultaneous presence and absence, drawing and quartering me into useless sections.

Wondering what will make me whole again.