VOID

Empty of mind 

There’s nothing left in me.

I want someone—anyone—to fill my heart with feelings.

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 a feeling to hold.

My hands are empty.

Maybe there’s a torch in them.

But I don’t feel it.

Maybe there’s a thought in my head.

But I can’t see it.

My mind is void.

My heart is hollow.


I stare at my book—

my own heart written across pages.

There are feelings in those pages.

But not in me.


I tear the pages.

One by one.

They remind me of my ache,

my pain,

my memories.


The paper makes a sound.

Like it wants to say something.

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 scribble:

VOID.


Because that’s what I feel.

That’s what I am.

This...

is the void.

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