There Was A Space

there was a space I didn’t know existed—
there, right there,
it was reserved.
a hollow,
a breath held between two silences.
It was waiting—
like the pause before a bird lifts its wings,
like the shadow beneath the earth.

there was a dream of love,
pressed between the pages of an old book,
not forgotten, never understood,
its edges blurred, still soft with time.

you came—
like rain to the desert,
like a chorus sung to the lost.

you left—
and the air closed behind you,
but the space,
the space remained.

when you returned,
the space opened like a wound,
or a door.

you filled it—
with yourself,
with light,
with the colours of sound,
the scent of cedar and the sea,
and the sense of something breaking
and remaking itself in the dark.

Now I see what I could not see before:
The space was always waiting—
Love is not a filling,
but a hollowing,
an honouring of the empty places
and this quiet wonder that fills the hollow.