The Amazing Ache

heart hammering, aching, tortured, torn
i pick up the phone
it's late as usual.
i shake off the sleep and mumble hello and we talk.
a man stands over his sleeping children and breathes their breath while they sleep,
i listen to this faraway voice telling remnants of a past life,
and i wish i could make it different,
i wish there was a house with one roof,
i wish the mother was me and i was strong enough to not make mistakes,
like she did,
like he did,
like they did.
i lay on the couch with the symphony in my head,
the resonance in my ribcage,
the feeling of sophistication,
the amazing ache.
his voice grows lower and softer,
his children become shining and pure,
he becomes alive in that moment,
i want to sit next to him at the symphony and rest my head on his shoulder,
the musicians making the air warm and my head relax,
we breathe eachothers breath for a moment,
and doze off for a minute,
we laugh about it on the way home in the car,
and the headlights bounce off the canyon walls.
i come home to imaginary walls where he cooks breakfast in the morning,
where squealing boys get tickled and read stories,
where a new start and a new swelling grows.
i ask myself as he hangs up the phone why i feel this way?
why does my soul hurt,
like it always does when i speak with him.
what keeps me attached when there is nothingof my own to hold on to?