It could be anything else.

there must be something
to missing someone whom you have not met before. It has nothing to do with blue skies, golden fields of ripe grains, a bronze river, platinum music,
or leche flan,
not that. Not even a love letter left between leaves of
a notebook.
you have no idea. How is it to love an idea and not understand it fully.
You imagine it as beyond your grasp.
It could be anything else.
It is just a flow. A stream, A thread.
A camel passing through the eye of the needle. One night when you wake up
without your beloved in bed.

it is the shallowness of your night grave.
it is the emptiness of your heart. Your arms are bamboo slats.
Air passes on those empty spaces.

You are in love with an idea. It's been there since you were born.
You have no idea now what it was once.

it is something, It is the unity that you miss.
It is One.

Just nothing
For now.