Empty.
But not like never having been filled.
Emptiness with a sense of having been robbed of once valued riches.
Which is a greater loss than never having been rich at all.
I go through the routine of wiping the sweat from my fingertip on my jeans
before pressing it to the back of my phone for identification to unlock my
rectangular world of instant gratification and equal disdain
Emptiness is an overwhelming emotion that pulls at the pit and reminds you that your stomach is hallow. It is a rock at the bottom of your esophagus; a figurative tear in your chest that feels so real you clutch your breast in anticipation of chest pains.
I hope that the chime was a text from a true friend or a valuable voice message
instead of a notification from an app game I hardly play or phantom voicemail
that never came through with a call, and leaves me more dissatisfied to have listened,
than it would have been to have maintained the mystery of its potential importance.
At least, for a little while, there was hope for feeling important to someone who wasn’t born instinctively loving you.
Depression feels that way. Every. Single. Breath. Filled with emptiness.