She will always exist in that hallowed space we carved out for ourselves.
Where fear was all there was, and so did not exist at all.
Where that black monster, with its deep divots and squirming edges, was constant, and thus, nullified.
Where love truly reigned and would not be contained
Where childish hope waxed and waned in concert with mechanical reality
In a toxic, thrilling dance.

And here I sit, alone as ever, trying very hard to remember and forget.
But failing both, with little hope, I settle for the in-between.
Perhaps this day is last of its kind,
The outer bound perhaps I’ve found, of this writhing and wrenching in-between,
Where trapped in the lip of some plastic bubble, her face returns, with searing burns, and cool pleasures, with nothing in-between.
I search my soul, for some old hole, probing front and back, to and fro, but find nothing in-between.

When will we be united? I enlist the help of silence
But I should know, with little show, each of us lives forever alone, in our own in-between.
I fling my arms, in confessed distress, upwards, towards the heavens’ in-between.
And just my luck, a toe I struck, of something familiar, unmistakably.
And feeling me, with reflexive glee, she curled her toes, my Emily.
And I, being the child that I am, wrapped my fingers tight.
She pulled me up, and up and up, until I reached a sea,
In shallow waters, with steam and slaughter, rising up from under me.
She was not there, belied my stare, while plumey air rose quickly, now above my knee.
The smoke surrounded, and with hope compounded, I was face to face with my Emily.
The same but not, different but not, she opened her mouth, at last free:
“My love, my sun, you have returned to me.
Don’t leave again, we’ll be happier then,
And leave nothing up to the believed or bereaved.”
And as her words finished, my torture diminished, she reached out a hand to run down my cheek.
But somehow forgotten, that lesson so rotten, exposed where we were as pitch-black bleak.
Her hand floated through me, gazed at each other truly, and agreed synchronously “the fuckin in-between.”

We threw back our heads in rip-roaring laughter, then shed tears shortly thereafter,
For we knew now it was not meant to be.

We bid our farewells, but far as I could tell, this would not be the last time I’d see my love, my soul, my bride, my queen, my sweet, sweet Emily.

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