Every voice seems to come from the end of a long empty hallway. Echoes of conversations and interactions reach my ears with such disdain that I can hear them as they drop to the floor and dissolve into nothing. I don’t like feeling lonely, it’s weak, it’s needy, and it’s almost narcotic. It is also helpless now, I swam too far and floating here seems better than swimming back to shore. I wallow, I rejoice, I let that smoke fill me up and numb my perception, and I like it. My direction is gone; my feelings are elusive, intermittent and unreliable. I stand looking at nothing, with an empty stare and a void that wishes to devour anything that gets near. Emptiness can be a virtue, a form to grow, a chance to reconstruct. But voids imply vacuums, and they consume what’s near, accessible and easy to find. How did I get lost again? Which way is out?
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