To the Void we Avoid

In my almost 2 decades of living, I’ve come to realize the one thing Mankind can’t seem to stand is their own selves. The feeling of being alone with your shadow, in your own skin. The quiet you get rewarded with when you can’t seem to find your AirPods and you’re unfortunately forced to walk down the streets without your ears blasting with Music of all sort.

It’s 30 minutes past 1am on a Saturday morning.

I was on my bed 10 minutes ago, laying in silence. My eyes were wide open, unusual. Almost too unusual. Picked up my phone. Hated the brightness that pierced through my eyelids. Dropped the phone. Sighed. Returned to bed. Repeat.

In the midst of these, I noticed one thing:

The inability to find comfort in solitude. And no, not the usual kind of solitude. I’m talking about the solitude that makes you lay back and genuinely enjoy the sound of nothingness. Not boredom… nothingness. Being comfortable and finding joy in the mundane. The peace that comes with knowing there’s no noise in your head. Yes, that kind of solitude.

I’m somewhere, sitting at the balcony. Enjoying the silence that comes with this hour of the day, right before humans come rushing in in a few hours.

I think the Void is very beautiful. I think emptiness has to be one of the most beautiful things to exist.

Void is found in how the Artist states at his blank canvas.

How the writer fixes her gaze on the cursor, expecting it to write magically.

Void is found in how you… and I… how we appreciate our own essence. How we move on from what we once had, grateful we had an experience, but not holding on to the loss of it thereof.

Void is a gift, afterall.