There is a pang in my gut. Not pain of a physical nature but one born of emotional loss. Empty space once filled with something special now gone. I have lived with this pang since memory began. It is as if there were something left behind yet I know not what.
Love?
Romance, I have indulged in over the years. Not frequently and never for long. Once, when intimacy had passed and closeness was about to begin, a feeling of deep regret began to fill that area of pang. Not knowing why, I ended the relationship. The regret hiding deep in my gut dispersed leaving only the emptiness once more.
So … love? Have I been in love before but prior to memory? If so I have no recollection of its occurrence, its start or ending or even who I bestowed it upon? I want to love. But, I fear it as well. Why? Not for any complication it might add to my life. Complication is an understatement for a life so rumpled; it resembles a cotton shirt left too long in the dryer after the cycle has stopped. What would another wrinkle add but more intrigue.
I feel like a lone sailor in his long boat fighting through a storm desperately fixed on the dim glow of a lighthouse showing the way home. Home, another egg I put in the same basket as love. I have never felt comfortable in this skin I wear, nor have I truly found a home with hearth to warm me through the night.
My labors are many but sweated through in solitude; no one to share them with. Yet, like a small pin stabbed through the back of my brain, the feeling that there once was love radiates like hardening cement.
Was there?
Is there still?
Will I find them?
And if not, will I ever be able to accept someone new?
Why these reminiscences of a possible lost love? A movie, a chick flick if you will with all the emotions wrapped up pretty and ready to be opened. Yet, I have given up on this present and live another day alone, wrapped in the blanket of solitude that will, God willing, give me the focus to find my way home.
Moses Haygood 
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