I have a feeling in my diaphragm, like an empty hole.  A void I’m aware of when I stop to listen.   Its the space that at other times has  filled with fluttering leaves that I can’t ignore, the wandering, spreading flutter that radiates down my stomach, up my back to tickle and scratch at the top of my neck, distracting my attention and whirling around my thoughts.

The emptiness I’m noticing now is pulling down on my heart, sapping my motivation.   The more I listen, the more I notice, sadness, longing, loneliness. I’m wanting a connection.  Someone to look in my eyes and hear me. The intimacy of shared experience and understanding.

I find myself reaching out to folks, grasping for that understanding. Feeling disappointment and frustration at the distraction in their eyes, or the wall my fingers can’t penitrate.  What am I missing? What is this hole? I ask Kiyana, “When you feel homesick what do you think is the source of that feeling?” She says, “It’s not home, it’s the people I’m missing.”

Ah. I’m missing you, so simple.


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