Load Bearing Walls

Someone once described the feeling as a hole in your chest. I agreed. A gaping, black emptiness that aches and pulls and is terrifyingly comfortable too, if just for the familiarity.

I worked to fill it again and again. Substances, things, titles, people, experiences. Climbing higher and higher — the peaks always extending, in order to match the ever-growing depth of the black hole in my chest. An opposite and equal reaction of highs and lows. Evolving into its own system of orbit. A living, breathing thing that is in and around me — but somehow not me.