It can’t be touched or seen,

it has no color or smell.

It’s like a thirst or hunger, though this one can’t be fed.

In youth it may just be a fancy,

though it feels real just the same.

A desire that no words can capture,

a place where a longing still remains.

It’s like a floating bubble as it’s about to burst,

it’s fulfillment might just overwhelm you,

its disappearance even worse.

It’s what you desire,

a craving deep within,

some are stones, while others feathers, they weigh you down or give a lift.

We serve as landlords to these tenants; some move on, others die, yet the most familiar remain as friends in secret confidence behind the door others are unable to enter.