the empty field

I'm sick of this perpetually empty field. 

I miss walking on moon dust powder fluffing up around me. 

I miss the infinite field. I miss your hand.

There used to be so much inbetween you and I.

The distance made me sick, 

the distractions sent my head spinning.

Now there is nothing, this is emptiness. 

This heart I have keeps beating, 

but only to perpetuate this convenience of life.

The inbetween the beat lulls longer these days.

The ghost inside of me is now more human than I am.

The weightlessness is becoming heavy.