There is a needy need so great in me that it makes me ache.
It craves and groans and won't let off,
and the worst part is that there's most of me inside that thinks it knows what this needy need needs to grow
less and disappear.
But I can't muster up the whatever-it-is to latch onto the whatchmacallit and here we are,
here we are...
floating inches from each other on a vast lake of
world and noise and motion and nothing.

And maybe my motionlessness is due to a secret worry that maybe the solution isn't the one I think is there. Maybe it won't be enough to go for it.
And in the meantime, the neediness is there to remind me
that there's better stuff to be had
and bolder ways to live.

...I don't know.