— Always 'Almost'

It's sort of funny that I hate not getting closure but never finish my senten— it's always 'almost'. I don't even know what I'm longing for. When I sit quietly I can hear the waves of ambiguity crash softly into my ear drums. How much time will elapse between us? Between all the spaces not yet filled, between all the silent pauses not yet lingered, between all the visceral skin-tight recognition? If people are just mirrors, well maybe I do love myself more than I let on. Maybe I do crave the words scraping against my teeth. Maybe I do see myself as sensual, stirring, alchemy in a scar-littered body. I wonder if this will ever—