s p a c e s

I tend to look at the space between people, when there’s more than one.

At a space between the eyes and above the nose, when there’s just one.

And at a space nowhere in particular, when there are really none.

These blank spaces are comforting, they don’t stare back. Innocuous,

Amoral and amorphous sockets, that won’t query or command me.

Shapeless, shape-shifting into whatever I pour out of my own eyes.

Like incorporeal ghouls that make love with the ghosts of our pasts.

Pasts that we lived, pasts that we wished for and pasts that we wished away.

It is in these spaces that I sigh and breathe, my heart skips no beats.

It is here that I light my fires, to repentant truthsayers and innocent liars.

It is not here that I wrong my rights and right my wrongs, for I am

In the business of wrongdoings, rightwooings and everything in between.

These spaces fill me and I them, till there’s nothing left unseen.

If only I could look at these people, their faces, not the spaces between,

If only they could look at me as people, and not a space unseen.

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