echoes

It's funny how we take steps

Away from the ones we love, nudging them quietly toward our periphery.

We use time and space to create distance, unbridgeable gaps

As if to say "See? You don't know me so well

After all."

Yet we sadden when no one understands, we feel alone

Which is what we thought we wanted-

Enough space to swing our arms

And not hit anyone.

We give and love, briefly,

Long enough to notice this lover is not worthy of such giving and loving.

We use words and their absence to create distance, taking untraceable steps

Farther and farther away.

Still, we miss hands to hold, knowing glances

And a protective, possessive arm around us.

We have shaken it free and now dance

Without a partner or an audience 

to compromise us.

So the question arises:

What to do with all this space?

It could seat several comfortably,

Leave room for entertaining guests, hell,

We could fit a king in a bed this size.

But there is no king, no guests, no several sitting,

Talking amongst themselves. Nobody

But us, making hollow-heeled echoes in our empty space

That bother no one

But us.