It’s hard to face the big, gaping emptiness. Much easier to go about the house, doing chores and keeping busy, while the pot simmers at the back burner of our minds, reminding us of…
There is a large hole in the floor where all these beautiful women fall in…one day they’re out and about, and the next they’ve disappeared into the darkness like a mist, just fallen into that hole where only the people who one loves, gorgeous beings that one has just met and could have had long and wonderful friendships with, go. The nasty creatures at the medical records office or the airline ticket counter – those reptiles never fall in the hole. Just the sweet-faced angels who knit toe socks, ski like Tasmanian devils, and share light, love, and wisdom with those they encounter.
There are the sweet men who loved the disappeared. Somewhere they are rebuilding, or just waking to find their loved one not there, this time for reals.
I’ve been walking around that hole for over five years. Sometimes I veer closer, other times I see it in the distance. One might call it a prominent landmark, and like Spectrals, perhaps only the terminally ill really see it for what it is – a swallower of beauty.
I’ve been hovering over the black hole for the past year. I’ve sat on the edge, dangled my legs, and poured tears into it. When it’s my turn, there better be something good at the bottom, because I’ve lost too many brave warriors to that f—ing hole for there to be nothing.
But maybe there is nothing. Maybe the hole is just relief. I sure hope not, because there are many sweethearts above ground hoping their loved ones went somewhere nice.