Where do you go when you’re gone? I never know, only that you’ve left. It’s in these moments that I realize how I feed from your light, the days when you’re warm and doting glow ethereal in my mind. It’s only once it’s tucked away, a meager few rays spared, that I know how cold I can get. That I know how much I rely on your favorable gaze to feel alive. I wither in the shadow of your detached absence like a bluebell in a cold snap. Not yet expected to be left here, unsuspecting of departure.
So when you leave, to where do you retreat? How will I know to expect you back? Or if I even should. For all I’ve known in the moments prior is undeniable symbiosis, a synergy that flows without damming. Now clogged by a bottleneck I can’t see, if you’re calling out to me through the ether, I cannot hear your voice.
I can’t imagine such a reign for myself. But perhaps I occupy an orbit that I cannot know. Maybe you wonder the same things about me, tucked tightly in the certainty of my revolutions. But all I know is the cold you’ve left, the light you’ve taken with you. I am here with an abundance of love and an eagerness to bestow it and you’ve gone away.
My instincts say that you’ll be back, but they also wonder why you’ve even left.
*authored 16 Apr 2021