-a collection of lost warmth

an ache

i hate that i've become acquainted with this feeling.
how familiar this feeling is;
said emotion being more so the lack thereof.
no tears shed,
no where to go,
no one to talk to.

so i turn to my keyboard to write what flows —
—from the digits of the keyboard to those of my fingers.
i type out what i wish to feel, and so it sets in.
so as you would expect, the feeling settles back in.
an essence of something to bring sensation.
yet i still shed no tears.

the grim reaper comes to collect my fellow souls.
my heart reaches out to them,
i want to feel for them.
to release liquid salt, to mourn their passing.
i wish to send my heart out to them.
the lost ones,

but it stretches no farther from my chest.
my tears flood no more than glistened eyes.
i wish to feel wet cheeks,
sticky eyelashes,
and sobs wracking my body.

yet still, i sit and ponder.
what is it that i'm reaching for?
why is it that i wish to ache?

i witness those who feel the pain of loss wishing for no more tears.
no more hurt.
they wish for the grief to wander away,
and yet i leave my door unlocked.

i leave my windowsill to soak in fresh air
for rain water to soak into the rug
with purpose, although
it seems as though i lack presented knowledge.
i lack the wisdom of pain, and loss, and hurt.
and still, i strive for pain to strike me down.

i sit and wish, pray even for some sort of heart break,
because from pain grows peace;
and i seek peace.

i seek for the five stages to hit me,
the five stages of grief.
of pain.
of loss.
i wish for them to seep into my open soul,
yet i find no solace in my pleading words.