Wang Wei

She has no personality. She is no person. She is a warm whisper on the back of my neck. To fry my temples with heated fingertips; to burn her image away from me. She is inhalation before silence. Swallowed down to hide in the gut. I wake at night, throat afire, her scent on my lips.

I've never known her. We've never met. My faith is void, my hopes are fools. You cannot know your own heart. Until she is formed, fully grown, she cannot be released. Until I see her I cannot release her. I cannot find her.

But I hear

And I smell

And I taste

It is she who must release me.

Anon-