I’ve been STRUGGLING to write anything here. Whenever it comes to my mind that someone, anyone, is going to read this, my mind refuses to work and the river ceases to flow.
So maybe I -and you, maybe- are going to have to wait for the flood, every time.
How can empty spaces hurt? Is not emptiness nothing? How can you be hurt by nothing?
You know that space in your heart that has always been empty except occasionally; when someone or something slips in behind your back. For some reason, you will always go back to realizing it’s empty again, or only half full. I didn’t mean for that to sound optimistic. Half full is good except when it comes to the heart. If your heart is anything but completely full, then you’re in for one hurtful confrontation, probably at night, probably would be cold in the winter, or really beautiful in the summer.
That empty space is emptier than anything – a black hole demanding to be filled but could never really be – at least not that way. Everything that goes in there disappears, shatters to a million pieces or maybe appears somewhere else. The important thing is: this space is never filled.
I have a thing for green eyes. I have a thing for the color red. I have a thing for a certain kind of beauty. I have a thing for sad tunes. I have a thing for short hair. I have a thing for rock music. I have a thing for a certain kind of jackets. I have a thing for smiles. I have a thing for fame. I have a thing for myself; my sad, bitter, lost, tortured, blue soul.
One day, a green-eyed lad will try and fill this black hole. He might jump willingly or I might trick him into falling, either way, I will not try to catch him. He will then shatter to a million pieces, or just disappear, or maybe appear some place else. He will never be the same again, and I will have not changed.
I beg you, let’s not try and fill this vacuum with anything; with green eyes, or painfully beautiful friends, or warm tight hugs, or late night conversations with fellow sufferers, or music louder than my mind, or hopeful future plans, or speeding on highways, or an excess of salt or sugar, or long phone calls, or anything of that nature.
I know what I need.
I know what I need.
P.S. I love you, my friend. I’m waist-deep in appreciation for all that you do for me.