nothing in between

Today I thought of leaving, meet the shores of my outer limits.

But i didn't.

Even though its soothing arms and gentle whispers have been often my voice and lament and next-of-kin, the true disquiet of my being relates to love.
To the lack thereof. To its excess, and to not having something else in between.
Nothing to sooth its passage, no warnings to stretch my bones, no call for the absence of sight or sound.
No half way to catch my breath, open my lungs and stiffen my muscles.
No shaking of the limbs as foreplay to a run and jump into belief.
No pat on my back to remind me of myself, my physical self, my minded self.
The true disquiet of my being relates to love.
Will always relate to love.
To the lack thereof.
To its excess.
And to nothing else in between.