I’ve been trying to fill up this void since the past couple of years. Mostly I was able to ward off the sadness that had enveloped me but there are still times when I just can’t shake it off. The ability to grasp pain, to finally crush it within my palm is still as elusive as it had been the moment the final goodbye had been uttered.
Isn’t pain that powerful? How can it consume and gnaw at every remnant and vestige of one’s being, leaving nothing but heaps of a carcass ready to be eaten by vultures. But you can never get a hold of it, oh no. It will trick you into thinking that it has retreated, that you won. But false bravado will never hold for long. What has been bottled up inside will soon burst out. And yes, there will be nothing but space.
Like the crescent-shaped bruises left at the back of one’s hand after being tightly clasped, the bruises may disappear but the sharpness of the nail digging at your skin is enough to make you re-member.
The need to touch something alive is sharper now.
The hunger brought about by the years of wanting is more acute.
But the deal was shook upon. It was offered to me and I accepted. There was no other choice then. Either way, it would still have been the same. I'd still be living this wretched life for years to come. Watching silently as each hand I grasp pulls away because they cannot withstand my deathly-cold palm.
I live, but not really living. Despite the throbbing pulse, there are no other signs of vitality. Maybe in death...there will be.