Why is the woman that sleeps next to me

so missing now (overnight girls’ party)?

Why is her absence so overwhelming, so tangible,

as I lie on my back way past midnight,

having turned back and forth

on my side of the bed

without falling asleep?

 

Is it because she is important?

So very dear?

Significant?

Needed?

 

No.

She’s all of these,

but not for that her absence is so gripping

and the precariousness of her presence

in the thread of my life –

so terrifying.

 

It is rather and only because of the commitment

of her innermost self to me, it

is for the pure disposition of her soul

to me

that I suddenly

grasp

and feel

that much more than a human being

or a woman

or a lover

or a friend is absent.

 

What I truly wish to hug

and am petrified by its absence right now

is the bond.

Our reciprocal deep dig into each other’s heart.

The deeper than the deepest sea kind of bond

that blazes and pervades me

when I imagine her eyes,

her smile,

her face looking at me at its plainest,

most genuine repose.

 

The bond and its truth.

As if our love has cleaned us

and made each one of us more than one.

It is the opposite – the absolute opposite – of loneliness.

Not being with another but being more than oneself.

Here the words stop…

 

That is the sense

in which a man is a King – a King of human dignity –

by his woman,

his soulmate,

his true Queen.

 

The humblest human alive.

 

This kind of missing

is very strong, even frightening.

A rupture of bewildering, awe-inspiring certitude,

it makes a mark in a very deep and a very high place.