Missing Her: The Necessity of Emptiness

In coming out school, it’s not like they prepare you, really, for what it’s like to love another woman. Some parts of loving come naturally. Like kissing. Other parts take work. Like managing those darned feeling things.

You know the feeling things? Those times during the day when you miss her. Or at night. And you shake your head because it doesn’t make sense. You just saw her five minutes ago. It’ll never make sense. But you miss her when she’s not near and you know it’s nuts, not rational, hardly balanced or logical but it’s a real feeling and you can’t just wish real feelings away any more than you can conjure up feelings you don’t have.

And so…I closed my eyes to missing and saw ancient amphora, bowls, crucibles and felt a pure state of emptiness. And then I knew:

Without emptiness, there would be no spoons to dip into bowls full of wonderful tastes, textures flavours, scents, no pots or vessels within which to mix and create foods, paints, lotions and potions and magic elixirs, no bottles to fill with wine, port, champagnes, no ancient amphoras of ancient perfumes or oils. Without emptiness, there would be no bathtubs,  no oceans, lakes or rivers, no filling your arms with love or flowers or dogs or her; no filling your eyes with sunrises or sunsets or art or her smile or her curves; or seeing fully how she looks at you; no filling your ears with music and the sounds of the forest, or ocean, lake and seaside waves, the instruments of the world, the sounds of the street of life, no hearing the many sounds of her, and of you and her, and of dogs and children and of laughter and of tears, the sound of pen on paper, of wine pouring, of sighs; no filling your nose with  her scent, covering your tongue with her taste. Without emptiness there would be no need to create with words, with colour, with textures, sounds or tastes…there would be no art.

Without emptiness there would be no longing or aching to be touched by her fingers, her mouth, her skin, her body; without emptiness you would not feel her inside, could not be filled with her. She could not pour into you.

Without emptiness I would not feel. Know. Miss. You.

About FS

Toronto, Canada. Writing about slices of life, the moments and minor details of which come into awareness or out of imagination and the spaces inbetween. On hiatus from writing anywhere else but here ... at least for now.
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2 Responses to Missing Her: The Necessity of Emptiness

  1. terrisitagg says:

    Some things should be read, late in the evening, with a glass of rich, oakey merlot, slowly, and alone. No ringing phones, disturbing phonecalls from delusional seniors, over-enthusiastic love-birds greeting the day, cats clamouring for kibble. I will re-read this another time, and trust it will be at least as impacting as it was this morning, in a more forgiving setting. Powerful, lyrical work FS. Nicely done. It inspires one to fill an emptiness. T.

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