There’s a hole inside my chest,
Around where my heart beats,
With a rhythm all it’s own,
It shrinks and it grows.

If only I could hold someone,
Hold them close and hold them long,
Maybe then the hole would clot up,
Then would I feel whole?

Theologically, I know,
God should be enough…
I do hold Him close,
And in Him I trust…
But He doesn’t always fill this hole,
This hole I always feel…

There is one I always think of,
One I hope might fill me up.
She doesn’t know how I feel,
Nor that I feel at all.

I want to hold a body close,
And fill this aching hole.
Someone who will understand,
Someone who’ll make me whole.

The finish line is a mirage,
A cruel joke played upon my mind.
I don’t know what it looks like,
And it stays always at a distance.

The finish line is a fluid concept,
Changing shape every time I approach.
It is at times a beauty in form,
Though always an abstraction.

The finish line leaves me running,
Escaping what first set me off.
I wonder what it is I run from,
Hoping against hope it is not the finish line.