Contain

That feeling has returned: the one where I feel as though I'm running relay races inside my skin.
It's a breathless sort of reckless sense of being abandoned, a vague panic.
The words I write aren't resonating because there's no one to hear them.
Do I need someone else to exist? No.
But an echo is formed because a sound bounces off a surface, then returns to the one who made it.
I need the deep cleansing breaths of someone who wants to care for me,
who will ruthlessly cut through any danger or threat.
Meaning takes on an added dimension, a wonderful texture when there's
someone to lean against, to be that defense to hide behind, that barrier to break down.
Trite phrases and petty cliches can't wrap themselves around the expansive feelings of loss I am trying to contain.
I'll clamp down hard, making sure they don't escape unless I'm alone.
Even then, I'll try to dismiss them.