Collecting Dust

My aching is collecting dust,

Hidden away in the place I buried it.

I tell myself I do not miss it,

That I do not want it back.

But there’s something in me

That reaches out toward it.

That breathes in and breathes out,

So the dust blows away.

I don’t want my pain

But I feel it is a part of me.

I would not exist without it.

I would not be whole

without the emptiness.