The Pond

My ramblings again...

     Visions of her dance over me. Just like reflections on water... changing the light and color wherever they go. Without penetration, but not without pain. Not without an abysmal ache. Emptiness. Voids once home to more comfortable, familiar pains. Rather than stark, bleak, sharp, nothingness.

     I reach out to touch her reflection as she passes over me. As always, my hands find only my own flesh. My own warmth. An empty hand and hollow chill are withdrawn. Behind it... ripples and distortions... A shimmering image. Always but never truly there. Always teasing and taunting with possibilities. Promises never seen to fruit. I am haunted by reflections on waters in which I cannot submerse.