We have a space in our living room. An emptiness. We can’t walk through it, so we go around it. We can shout from either side of it, but the sound won’t pass through. We live our daily lives navigating around the space. Accommodating it. Accepting it.
Letting it grow steadily bigger.
Of course, we can see each other through the space. We smile and we wave and I can see them laughing but i can’t hear it. I’ve tried so many times to just reach through the space- arms outstretched and desperately grasping- but the space won’t allow it. It doesn’t want me to.
The space pushes me out. Out into the outside world, which wouldn’t be so bad- if that’s where I wanted to be. But I don’t have a choice. And so I join the masquerade, and all the while that space keeps pushing at my back. Pressing so hard against me that at times I feel as though my ribs are going to break.
We slowly learn to live with the space. We are so used to it now that we don’t even notice it most days. But I know that it’s there. I have to walk through it every day. I feel it surround me. Reminding me always of its presence.
I still can’t figure it out. Is it necessary, and I just don’t know it yet? Is it something to adapt to, or something to overcome? Is it temporary or permanent?
I hope for a time when the void is gone, even as at grows steadily smaller and smaller. It pushes at me less, but it’s still there. Unavoidable. Until, hopefully, one day it wont be anymore.