Time and life

There's a part of me that loves the spaces in between, where lingers the words I could've said but couldn't, only making me wait and look forward to the next time we meet, there is this sanguinity amidst this space that I don't count this moment to be our last, and like the shore, I await you, the wave tied to it, counting every second of this departure with the affection I share with you, intensifying it every time.

Though these spaces are often wide, I embrace the surge of longing they bring, for I believe whatever time would borrow from me, it would return it to me sweeter than what it used to be.

These spaces in between, the words they bridge, and the lines they dangle in between, they become more cherishable, more intense as the silence they leave on the tongue only to fetch memories to you, of beings beloved, of destinations marked of nostalgia.

Just how aromatic they are of things we love, these spaces, they are ever so evident of them despite the stretch we trace to reach them.

And oh ironic it is, these spaces in between weren't empty after all, rather impregnated with essences of love ever so irreplaceable.