This space between us,
I bless it. Though I have
wanted to hold you tight,
and tighter than that,
though I have pressed
my naked weight into
your nakedness, though
I have wanted to go deeper
than that, to penetrate
into the very core of you
and feel you inside me, too,
though I long to join you
completely, I bless this space.
I bless the fear that enters me
when you leave, wondering
if you will return. I bless the
loneliness that grows in me
like a child that will not be born.
I bless the chill of the lonely bed
that holds the space for your warmth.
And I bless the struggle of reaching
for you—how vulnerable it is
to let the arms open, to open
the hands, to hold them open
wide and wider, though they long
to cradle this very body that
misses you instead. It is
scary to love you this way,
by letting you go again
and again, not just when you
leave, but letting you go
even in the moments
when I’m pressing my lips
into your neck, feeling your
hands splay across my back.
And I’m letting you go
with my blessings, blessing
the space between us
and how it invites a crossing.