The truth is there is no bottom. The Big Empty is just an endless fall pulling you deeper and deeper into something like a black hole without the substance at the center.

How do I explain these colors to you because words like melancholy and sadness and torpor can’t quite wrap their delicate fingers around the subtlety?

Have you ever played with nesting dolls? Little rosy cheeked mommas smiling happily inside one another. Layers of nothing, bright shells with different dresses painted on and sometimes the world is yanking them out like a child, like a circus of children, tearing through the stacks like there could be no greater joy than destroying the order looking for more. Always more.

Well I guess I am a wellspring of nothing. I always have more and you’ll keep tearing it out of me until I’m a corpse. I give my soul away to every love that needs it and there’s nothing left to save myself. A feast no one knows how to feed. Hi, that’s me.

I’m a few dolls down to less than I’ve ever had but it’s more than I’d hoped for. Further than I thought I’d come, and still so, so much further I could fall.

(Creating faith from nothing before the light gets swallowed up again, you have so much work to do, kiddo. Get up.)