The Presence of Absence

CONTENT NOTE: this post contains erotic and explicit writing

When you are inside me, exerting your pressure millimetre by millimetre until I stretch impossibly to accommodate the entirety of you, every other experience and yearning is pushed out of my being, and there is only that moment of knowing-you-knowing-me in this deep intimacy.

I can wish for that moment to last for an eternity, to forget there is any more to my life than this – than you. But –

the moment ends.

You depart and I contract. No longer the unfathomable vastness of a universe, now a mere ant on the earth’s surface, a speck of dust in your eye that elicits a single tear before you wipe me away.

I exist in this all – or nothing – state.

 

I login to another plane. My heart leaps. My cunt awakens. Would you meet me there?

Yes.

The appointment is set. And I do my hair and I pee a dozen times and I wait for the flicker and the tone that tell me we are connected. At last.

You are there! I can see you. I can hear you. But my body strains, confused: I cannot smell you; you don’t reach out to touch me. I am floundering in this middle-of-nowhere presence of your absence. Pixelated promises offer empty disconnection.

It’s me, you shout, I’m here. Can’t you see me? Can you hear me?

And I do and I can and it is not enough.

Not enough.

Not enough.

The call ends and I cry.

 

I close my eyes and I summon up the memory of the last time we were actually together. The exquisite presence of your presence. When you were inside me, exerting your pressure millimetre by millimetre. 

~~~

I wrote this piece as a way to express my yearning and my disappointment. Digital platforms attempt to trick our minds into believing we are together – but our bodies tell us, undeniably, we are not.

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