It feels empty.
It is a glass of water pushed off the table, it gushes from my eyes.
Vacantly, as I stare into the paper waiting for the words to express this kind of empty, this kind of feeling so much that I am simply, empty.
The kind of empty that feels lonely.
The kind that makes me feel like sitting and looking out the window.
The kind of empty lonely that makes me need to be alone so that I do not hurt others with my wicked tongue.
The kind of empty lonely that is not easily understood.
In the darkened basement I sit, shunned from the outside world, surrounded by hobbies and projects I have lost interest in.
My motivation has left me, I look for her everywhere, but she doesn’t want to be found.
In a way, I am jealous, I would like to disappear too. There are times when I feel stuck in my meaningless day-to-day routine.
I am always reaching for something, hoping that it will give me something to live for, something that will make this all worthwhile, something that will give me meaning.
But for now, there is meaning in my empty loneliness.