My soul went out when he spoke

I saw C. today.  His outline, his form, his eyes.  Heard his voice.  Still a vestige, still a million miles away.  I reached out to touch this mirror, a mirror into another space.  A white room, his face, even his voice.  My body and my bones reached out through my unmoving hands.  My cells, all the water and the blood, my humanity, my earthiness spilled over into my raging present.  but in the reflection I appeared absolutely still, i stilled the whirlpool, caught it behind my eyes, caught it up behind gates.  If only the rushing and swirling could be visible, the pumping and racing, and depths, depths like the primordial watery depths of the deep... rushing raging water, streaming out of my quiet eyes.  And he saw, he did, he must have seen me.  I felt the peace of being seen.  and not the disappointment of being missed like two meteors passing in a distant part of the universe, in the cold emptiness of space, passing a trillion miles apart, passing by without meeting and continuing the journey into the cold dark for what reason, for what purpose, only absurdity.  I saw him and he saw me, we saw each other.  And maybe my mirror tricked me into the sense of being seen.  maybe through my mirror I saw myself, only myself.  did i paint his edges, his softness, read into his eyes the gates holding back his own ocean.  i question the memory of this vestige, this moment of present, that moment of being released from the pain of desire, that space that i already feel the loss of... an emptiness, and the thirst returns, and the separation returns.  feeling held back.  feeling trapped behind this face.  and behind this face I am adrift and alone in the deep darkness of my own wild seas. great waves, i am swept up to the foaming top of a wave and i am sure to be plunged deep into the rolling waters, pushed down deep, spinning, and trying to breathe.  but with one look he stills the storm.  that moment when he saw me, the peace of a thousand summers flowed through me.  i suddenly came to rest.  ... and now the vestige is gone and i try again to breathe.

I rose up to open to my [b]eloved/ and my hands dripped with myrrh/ and my fingers flowing with myrrh on the handles of the bolt/  I opened to my [b]eloved/ but my [b]eloved had left/ He passed on/ My soul went out when [h]e spoke/ I sought [h]im but I could not find [h]im/ I called [h]im, but [h]e did not answer me.

Son 5:5-6 MKJV