In this never ending story there's a mocking lacuna,
one that's too wide to ever build a bridge across.
And here we stand on opposite ends,
pouring our souls deeper into a miasma
that's already taken everything we never had.
And I've spent years wondering if this was ever real,
or just a dream from a time of innocence
that I never let go of when I was supposed to.
I oscitate at the things we will never know,
unwilling to just close this door and step away,
because I remember the synchronicity we shared
even though it was a lifetime ago.
It is the one thing that cannot be taken;
the only thing we have as the chasm gets deeper,
the distance grows wider,
and the weight of our own hearts drag us under.
Imago: an idealized concept of a loved one, formed in childhood and retained unaltered in adult life.
Miasma : noxious exhalations from putrescent organic matter; poisonous effluvia or germs polluting the atmosphere. A dangerous, foreboding, or deathlike influence or atmosphere.
Lacuna : a gap or missing part.Oscitate : to gape; to yawn.
Synchronicity: an apparently meaningful coincidence in time of two or more similar or identical events that are causally unrelated