VOID

 Empty.

Empty of mind.

Empty of heart.

Empty of everything.


There’s nothing left in me.


I want someone —

anyone —

to fill my heart with feeling.

Any feeling.

It doesn’t matter what kind.

I just don’t want to feel…


Empty.


Because this emptiness reminds me —

I’m not alone.

I’m lonely.


I walk through the dark night of this world,

searching for something to hold.


My hands —

empty.


Maybe there’s a torch in them.

Maybe there’s a thought in my head.


Maybe.

Maybe.


But I don’t feel it.

I don’t see it.


My mind — void.

My heart — hollow.


I stare at my book.

My own heart, written across pages.

Feelings live there —

but not in me.


I tear the pages.

One by one.


They remind me:

ache.

pain.

memory.


The paper makes a sound,

like it wants to speak.


But my heart doesn’t listen.

My mind doesn’t care.


I rip every page.


Now, only nine white pages remain.

And in my hand —

a black pen.


I grip it tightly.


And I scribble:


VOID.

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