Empty.
The hole sits in front of me, inside of me,
begging, if not demanding to be filled.
I try to ignore it, it is too much work.
I wish I would’ve never dug this hole.
But there it sits, dark, vacant,
deprived of the feelings it was once filled with,
the experiences that made it level ground.
No, not level ground, a mountain,
above all others,
above the clouds.
But, what goes up must come down.
It came down too fast, without warning,
a landslide.
And we were on the ground again,
along with everyone else.
But, after you have been in the heavens,
what fulfillment is gained by being on the same level as everyone else?
How does it feel to witness perfection,
then return to where you were,
exposed to the imperfections of everything else?
I only see the imperfections now,
realizing what I had,
what I could have had,
what I was too afraid of reaching for.
If I couldn’t grasp it,
I would fall, fall so far.
But, what if she would have embraced me?
What if I would have held on?
What if?
I’ll never know.
So I dug this hole,
relieving myself of all these feelings,
these promises, these memories.
And now I stare into this void,
only to realize I wanted them.
I needed them.
They happened for a reason,
even if it wasn’t the reason I was looking for.
So, now I try to fill this hole,
this emptiness.
I try to search for those feelings again,
not knowing if they’ll ever be found,
not knowing where to look,
not knowing what I had before.
Until now.
Why is it that you can never truly appreciate what you had,
what you were so close to grasping,
what you really felt,
until it is gone,
out of reach,
falling away?
I need to fill this hole.
