Writer’s Block

A bow, a salute,
A kind word.
Courtesy, politeness,
A ready smile,
Always present,
never threatening,
never intrusive.
A friendly presence,
comforting, safe.

And always,
finishing last.

Such a simple thing…
your arms enfolding,
a soft embrace.
Surrounding…comforting…
Holding.
A simple request,
for you to create a space,
where I can feel safe,
feel loved.
Sheltered.
A new world,
my own world…
surrounded by yours.
Safe.
Just one night,
where I can sleep,
enfolded, comforted,
Secure.

A whisper of soft words half-remembered;
The words themselves lost to the mists of time,
Their tone and meaning as clear as now.

A ghostly touch, of arms embracing…
Distant past as warm and comforting as tomorrow.

A memory of soft lips on the back of the neck,
A trick of time making the skin tingle as if they had just left.

There is laughter in the air,
but it is not mine.
Conversation flows,
around me, not through.
My mouth opens,
but I am not heard.
There is a bond here,
but I am not a part of it.
I am detached,
and I detach.
The distance is short,
yet the gulf is uncrossable.
I disappear
and no one notices.

Light streaming through a window,
onto the pale face peering from outside.
Watching, seeing the life celebrated within.

Watching the conversations,
the friendships,
the loves.

Outside, the loneliness is chilling,
cutting to the bone.
A tentative hand reaches up,
to tap at the window,
then freezes,
paralyzed by fear.

A sudden wrench,
perspective changes,
What was once outside looking in…

Is now trapped inside,
looking out.