The Shape of Absence

It hurts.

The words echo as the swirling thoughts and emotions rush in. The most distinct among them is the feeling of absence. The taste of bitterness overtakes everything as the hunger fills the void. It’s insidious, it fills every crack and empty spot, and it whispers words of doom.

“You are nothing.”

It says and the words echo a thousandfold vibrating within. A chord of longing struck and instantly extinguished by confusion and bitterness, by an explosion of false pleasure and amusement, a brightness swirling within the emptiness.

“You do not belong.”

The words strike like the crack of thunder upon a grieving sky, the rain washing away all noise… Then the bitterness lifts it up into the sky where elation sits for the briefest of moments only to fall down from a million miles and crash into the mud of itself.

“Nobody will ever love you.”

The voice penetrates deep within and finds the absence, where the hunger creates resonance.

“I am nothing.”

“You are not nothing.” — Another voice says.

“I do not belong here.” — An answer comes unbidden. There is silence.

“You do not belong here.” — The other voice agrees. The hurt grows within the absence and the two circle one another in a vortex of pain. They recognize each other. It is fire and ice, the present and the absent, the infinite and the mundane fused into one in a moment outside of time and space yet more real than either.

“I am not loved.” — The grief reaches new heights and bursts through the skin of its endurance, spilling into the lands of sorrow stretched red beneath a black and starless sky. The things that live there move like shadows given appetite. Vast and hulking, or small and blade-edged, their silhouettes a geometry of teeth and claws, they move in search of nothing at all.

“You are not loved.” — The voice agrees and all of existence shakes with laughter, for what is love meant to mean? Is that absence filled with love or hate or hunger? What absence is there still when nothing is or was as it should be, and what should be as it is not when what it is could not be?

“I am coming undone.” — The world shifts and spins and the shapes approach, razor blades reaching and shadows growing all about.

“You are becoming more.” — The voice disagrees and a tiny light shines in the distance illuminating the shadows. They are hands reaching in a gesture of good will, bleeding from a thousand cuts, crimson mixing with the sand beneath. The laughter echoes brimming with benign elegance and a warm breeze fills the air with the scent of summer.

“I know too much, it is pointless.” — The light grows stronger and the faces are illuminated with its warmth. They are all one, wearing different masks, one of stranger, one of father, one of friend, behind them the voice speaks.

“You are loved.” — The voice says to itself and all is nothing for it alone stands within the void of its own musings.

“I am loved.”