Dear Stranger,
The emptiness seems to be my destiny, well within my reach, an ambition I can cling on to.
I remember that day, sitting in that plastic chair in that hospital, it was right there in my stomach, a pit darker than black swallowing me whole. I wanted to scream it out of me.
They seem to think it's beautiful, that I don't have to reject the emptiness, that I can just let it exist until it's filled. But I can't help but think it never will be. No matter the good memories, the laughs and the recklessness, it will never be satisfied. It'll only get deeper, darker, emptier.
I'm not supposed to be here.