I feel much and many.

I miss hands that never touched.
I miss arms that never held.
I miss endearments that never came.
I miss memories that did not happen.

When I press upon warm bodies, I hold heat.
When I study eyes, I cannot find myself.
When I paint, I find nothing beyond it.
When you paint, I cannot find the painting.

I feel complete. Whole as this apple.
I feel existential. Disconnected as this apple.
I feel diverse. Unique as this apple.
I feel compromised. Infected as this apple.
I feel much and many.