Bellies

by Nicola Dinan

Sometimes a person, an achievement or a place—whatever is missing—seems the perfect shape to fill a void, so much so that its absence seems to be the cause of the problem and its presence the solution. But up close, the voids are always much larger.

Tolerable ripped me in two. It delivered the truth of my shortcomings, the limits of what I could do to close any gap I thought was between us.

I may have a better handle on the stars, but she draws the constellations;

I know that beauty isn’t supposed to mean all that much, but sometimes it means a lot.

When you know someone and you grow together, your shape and form become theirs.

Maybe that’s what people are supposed to do, sponge out the bad, wring out the suffering as much as we can, even if it stains our hearts and hands.