There’s a space
between you
and me,
like the spaces between these words—
full of meaning
if you look for it
except…
please,
don’t start reading between these lines.

It’s not the physical space either,
though, to me
it certainly feels like a physical thing
with its own weight,
its own heartbeat,
its own presence
like it’s here,
standing between us,
a barrier I just can’t seem to pass.

You don’t see it,
I hope,
but I do
it’s there in the words
I want to say, but don’t,
the messages I delete
before you see them,
the hugs I return timidly,
the uncertain looks I sneak
to ascertain your thoughts of me.

And
it’s not just you, specifically
and no,
I can’t really explain its existence
and, yes
I know it sounds cliché
but you need to know
that it truly has nothing
to do
with you,
it’s me.

I know it’s me.
I’m a jumbled mess of pieces
sown back together,
a jigsaw puzzle where all the pieces fit
but none of them seem to match
sure, I’m whole now
but, I think I must still be
a little broken
because you love me
somehow
and I…
well, I love you too
and yet…

there’s a space
between you
and me.