latency

It is freedom, though it is the freedom of a man who has fallen somehow into the middle of the ocean. Free to drown as you please. Without mark or measure, you feel the loosened tether, the world open wide. Without a worry or a thought, it will swallow. It is freedom, dark and awful and every wish fulfilled.

The words all drowse, amid the drift and heft of your heart. The words are calm and simple, you feel them bead, warm and wet upon your flesh. They sift through your fingers, they fall away. Free is the language of loss. Free is the sound of forever. These words, seemingly so far, seemingly so full. So close that the flesh will mistake them for its own feelings.

Absence abounds, stitched into every healing wound. Absence abounds, knit into every salvaged bone. Empty fills every hunger, empty leaks from every door. All the hollow windows, all the empty chairs, the tea set sullen with dust. Unmoored and wide awake-- finally you are free.