Holding My Breath

I thirst for him so desperately, sometimes I can smell him here. That virile, fermone-laden scent of a man. He leaves me breathless ~ feeling like an insatiable, hungry child. In the still of many ebony nights our hearts, psyches and souls exploded together ... silently, passionately. I must wait 4 weeks. That's it ~ the time will pass quickly. Yet, I feel the absence of his presence as desperately and acutely as I feel myself when I hold my breath, and thoughts of when I will next breathe choke out all other thoughts. Sometimes the ache becomes so pronounced I feel physically ill. Sometimes I have the fortitude to place the ache in its trunk, and lock it there, out of view and grasp. It eventually finds a way out ~ this ache for him. And so I face each moment as it presents itself. And I remind myself that I must retreat, emotionally, in order to advance.

"Focus, roxanne. Of course you will survive. The light is where you walk."