you can taste it, lips slightly parted in anticipation of soft fuzzy words. pregnant with light and deep. a touch of hard red around the edges. i know. i know. you hate to love them. but love them you do. with every last dull drop that circulates through your body. you ache that familiar ache, it'll never go away, you know, that big gaping hole you're hiding. i know my empty. because it can be serene as unmoving water with moon reflecting beams. it pauses at book pages, at the sight of children scribbling happily at warm kitchen tables, at the moment in the day when the sun reluctantly submerges her bright head, tucks behind the sea.