Fill me full of holes.

I lie in the dark, retracing the lines of your skin in my imagination, reliving the moment after moment after moment. I'm alone in an occupied bed. You twist and turn, shift and dodge, never to touch except in the moment that passed hours ago. Never never never. I'm left with empty hands and full eyes as you sleep.

I am not here.

You see me but don't. I wonder whose face you picture when you don't have your head turned away... whose lips you kiss... which dream you're replaying in your head so that it's not me. Never me. Ever.

I am nothing.

I sit in this silence, so afraid of the truth. I'm pulled and pushed and torn and tied and thrown and crushed. I am no one. I am blank space. I am a pair of arms... two hands... shoulders... waist... hips... legs... I am body parts... animate but still a thing.

This has nothing to do with who I am inside.

I've loved more than one person at once...

Why do I find it so hard to believe it of other people?

Why do I always assume I'm the one that's not being loved back?

I guess I'm just waiting to hear it.