There is a feeling of emptiness. A sense of dissatisfaction that has engulfed me for the longest time.
It rises and ebbs perhaps depending on the phase of life I am in. I doubt if this hollowness will ever be filled. It was there when I was born and it continues to grow as I age.
To fill it is my struggle throughout this life that I have been bestowed. The rise of the yearning to diminish it is my force to move ahead, to grow and move on. Its ebb is my period of lull, of comfort.
It doesn’t like the lull though. In no time creeps in the discontent, the doubt, the uneasiness, the longing of another place and another horizon.
I am always walking the thin line between finding the reason of its existence and the utter comfort of my ignorance of it being the core of what I am.
I could let it be stagnant, but I scrape its raw skin ever so often.
It’s a fresh wound I enjoy the pain of.
It’s the unknown that excites me.
It’s the darkness that leads me to the light.
Where would I be, what would my soul be without this hollow, this yearning, this discomfort?
I wouldn’t be me.