@Copyright E. Charles Tucker, all rights reserved. Please do not reproduce without the expressed written consent of the author.


Should I be hollow? A blank page?
A shell, thin and fragile, ready to break?
Or, is emptiness deeper than mere absence?
Can emptiness be solid, have substance?

Mine does.

My emptiness has weight, form, matter.
It has dimensions, not just in bulk and size,
But in mind, in soul, within time, and without;
In hopes and dreams, fears and anxieties.
It lives, breathes, thinks, wants, needs, hates, loves.
It remembers, and clings.
Clings to memories that haven't been,
Jumping across time to find what will be,
What could be.

What should be.

My emptiness is an enemy, a lover, an advisor, a friend.
It pulls me down, further than I ever dreamed possible;
It lifts me up, sending me soaring above and beyond the very heavens.
It has sound; it sings, reaching falsettos, bellowing baritones,
Harmonzing melodies.
It has a voice, and it speaks to me.
In anger, it shouts, deafening me.
In love, it whispers, giving me hope.
It exists, because I give it leave to live
Within me.

I allow it life, give it breath.
It's death is mine, should I wish it.

I don't.

My emptiness is love.
And love will always find a home in my heart.