Void Inside Me Quotes

There is an emptiness inside of me -- a void that will never be filled. No one in your life will ever love you as your mother does. There is no love as pure, unconditional and strong as a mother's love. And I will never be loved that way again.

He felt as if his heart had dried up. I needed her he thought. I needed someone like her to fill the void inside me. But I wasn’t able to fill the void inside her. Until the bitter end, the emptiness inside her was hers alone.

The void inside me starts to fill, but my heart has holes, and whatever it holds will run out, leaving me empty once again.

There is an emptiness inside of me- a void that will never be filled. No one in your life will ever love you as your mother does. There is no love as pure, unconditional and strong as a mother's love. And I will never be loved that way again.

You were meant to be like me. You were meant . . . You’re nothing now.” He dropped his hands. I saw realization strike him. He was truly alone. And he always would be. I saw emptiness enter his eyes, felt the yawning void inside him stretch wider, and infinite wasteland. The calm left him, all that cool certainty. He cried out in his rage.

But more than that, he admired the way she'd always spoken her mind. He remembered that after they'd gone out a few times, he'd said to her what he said to all women he dated-that he wasn't ready for a steady relationship. Unlike the others, though, Allie had simply nodded and said, "Fine." But on her way out the door, she'd turned and said: "But your problem isn't me, or your job, or your freedom, or whatever else you think it is. Your problem is that you're alone. Your father made the Hammond name famous, and you've probably been compared to him all your life. You've never been your own person. A life like that makes you empty inside, and you're looking for someone who will magically fill that void. But no one can do that but you.

There's a void inside me, a blank that's slowly expanding, devouring what's left of who I am. I can hear it happening. I'm totally lost, my identity dying.

Yes, there had been a void inside me, but voids were underrated. Voids were empty of love but also pain. Emptiness was not without its advantages. You could move around in emptiness.

Even if it's a lie, it's a place of my own. That's why I'm going to keep it. It doesn't need to be a big lie—just big enough for one person. And if I can hold on to that lie inside my heart, if I can keep repeating it to myself, it might lead me somewhere. Somewhere else, somewhere different. If I can do that, maybe I'll change a little, and maybe the world will, too.

The day i met Cameron,the pieces started to flow into place,and the night that Cameron kissed me,the day that he sat next to me and told that he loved me,that was when the last piece of me were snapped into place.Every other second,minute,hour that i spent with Cameron after that moment made the last piece of my puzzle grow stronger,so that it made the damaged,the broken pieces become insignificant-mere background noise.But Cameron had taken the last piece of the puzzle with him,and a black hole was all that was left in its stead.How do you recover from that? How do you survive?You don't, I resolved.There's no coming back from that permanent void left inside of you.You become a shell,going through the motions without emotion,like a robot,while the rest of me was wherever Cameron was...

The second thing I thought was that I knew everything. Lettie Hempstock's ocean flowed inside me, and it filled the entire universe, from Egg to Rose. I knew that. I knew what Egg was - where the universe began, to the sound of the uncreated voices singing in the void-and I knew where the Rose was -the peculiar crinkling of space on space into dimensions that fold like origami and blossom like strange orchids, and which would mark the last good time before the eventual end of everything and the next Big Bang, which would be, I knew now, nothing of the kind.

What do I know about love? Not much-that’s the safe answer. Even when I think I have a grasp on it, something comes along to make me realize I don’t know anything at all. It’s just a concept to me. It’s the thing that all the songs are written about, the thing that makes smart people act stupidly. If I can make love a concept, it makes me a better observer. And it also leaves a place inside of me hollow. Sometimes I can actually feel it. To reach down inside that part-I wonder how it would feel, to touch a void. That nameless empty. This makes me seem lonely, which isn’t really true. I have other parts of me—friendship, for one—which compensate for the void. I can’t feel the nothingness except in those rare times when there’s nothing else to feel.

I had (and have?) this void, this cavern of loneliness inside me that I have spent my whole life trying to fill. I was willing to do most anything if that boy would ease my loneliness, I wanted to feel like he and I belonged to each other, but each time we were together and then after, I felt quite the opposite. And still, I was drawn to him.

Carry me inside you as a light that brightens your world and makes everything better. I don’t want to be a void, a hole, a shadow. REMEMBER ME!

Will you dance with me?" The charms on Sahara's bracelet clinked against one another as she lifted her arms to link them around his neck, her love for him proud and open. Deep inside, even the part of him that was the void, merciless and dark and broken, knew happiness, knew joy.

I’ll fill in the missing voids of your heart with parts of mine,” he whispers while his cock still twitches inside me.

It’s almost as if I want to eat as much as I can to fill up the empty void inside of me. Other

Don’t just try to be happy when you think of me—be happy. Look at the ocean and smile. Inhale the scent and celebrate. Remember me. Remember that I was never sad for more than a day, rarely for more than an hour. Remember the amazing times we had and what a goofball I was. Remember that I was scared of anything with more than four legs but fearless of adventure. Remember. Carry me inside you as a light that brightens your world and makes everything better. I don’t want to be a void, a hole, a shadow. REMEMBER ME!

She had what's known as inner life and didn't know it. She lived off herself as if eating her own entrails. When she went to work she looked like a gentle lunatic because as the bus went along she daydreamed in loud and dazzling dreams. These dreams, because of all that interiority, were empty because they lacked the essential nucelus of⁠—of ecstasy, let's say. Most of the time she had without realizing it the void that fills the souls of the saints. Was she a saint? So it seems. She didn't know what she was meditating because she didn't know what the word meant. But it seems to me that her life was a long meditation on the nothing. Except she needed others in order to believe in herself, otherwise she'd get lost in the successive and round emptiness inside her. She meditated while she was typing and that's why she made even more mistakes.

Only after loving you I realised I had an empty space; this little void, a tad bit of hollow inside a corner of my heart and it screamed: Fill me up!

...No one knows what they are doing on earth or even off it. The gods didn't even know what the gods were doing, assuming there were even gods. Did the void know what it was doing? Did it know itself? Maybe the void didn't even know what to do with itself and didn't even like itself. Maybe the nothingness knew only to fill itself with people, and in that way was a creator of sorts. Maybe nothingness was a god, but not intentionally cruel-not confident in itself. Maybe it was not evil or saying ha-ha to me, just lonely, hating itself, waning something else to stick inside itself to relieve itself of itself. It seemed as though Theo didn't know what he was doing. I obviously didn't either. In that way maybe we were like gods.

Oshima once used the term hollow men. Well, that’s exactly what I’ve become. There’s a void inside me, a blank that’s slowly expanding, devouring what’s left of who I am. I can hear it happening. I’m totally lost, my identity dying. There’s no direction where I am, no sky, no ground.

I would lie of course. I lied a lot and with good reason: to protect the truth—safeguard it like wearing fake gems to keep the real ones from getting stolen or cheapened by overuse. I guarded what truths I possessed because information was not a thing—it was colorless odorless shapeless and therefore indestructible. There was no way to retrieve or void it no way to halt its proliferation. Telling someone a secret was like storing plutonium inside a sandwich bag the information would inevitably outlive the friendship or love or trust in which you’d placed it. And then you would have given it away.

Only after loving you I realised I had an empty space; this little void, a tad bit of hollow inside a corner of my heart and it screamed: Fill me up!

I was here against my will no longer mattered when I knew he’d fill the void inside me. In one way, at least.

I feel like there’s a void inside me where the girl I knew once lived and the person I see in the mirror, I don’t recognise any longer.

But sometimes, I’m ravenous. It’s almost as if I want to eat as much as I can to fill up the empty void inside of me. Other days I can barely bring myself to nibble on a piece of toast.

It’s not a lot – not nearly enough to fill the gaping void inside me – but it’s something. It’s always nice being fancied. It’s always nice being wanted. Even if it’s by the wrong person.

Life is an immense bag inflated with air and I blow into it reason and feeling, substance, matter, flesh, bones, blood, and the body lived and torn to the point of exhaustion to annul the void. Maybe I already have everything inside me, yes maybe I do and I just want a pair of lips to blow into the balloon with me.

I feel I must burst because of all that life offers me and because of the prospect of death. I feel that I am dying of solitude, of love, of despair, of hatred, of all that this world offers me. With every experience I expand like a balloon blown up beyond its capacity. The most terrifying intensification bursts into nothingness. You grow inside, you dilate madly until there are no boundaries left, you reach the edge of light, where light is stolen by night, and from that plenitude as in a savage whirlwind you are thrown straight into nothingness. Life breeds both plenitude and void, exuberance and depression. What are we when confronted with the interior vortex which swallows us into absurdity? I feel my life cracking within me from too much intensity, too much disequilibrium. It is like an explosion which cannot be contained, which throws you up in the air along with everything else

And suddenly I felt nothing because the emptiness inside had consumed every trace of emotion, leaving me numb and adrift in a void of my own making

When that girl left, she left behind this void. No, maybe not. Maybe she just showed me something that was already there, inside me.

I was never the best friend. I was always second choice, the friend who, somehow, always got left out, even when people didn’t mean to. A small part of me feels, as though, I never truly belonged with any group of friends I’ve had in the past. I’ve always felt like an outsider, doing my damnedest just to fit in and have people there in my life to fill that void inside me.

Lettie Hempstock’s ocean flowed inside me, and it filled the entire universe, from Egg to Rose. I knew that. I knew what Egg was—where the universe began, to the sound of uncreated voices singing in the void—and I knew where Rose was—the peculiar crinkling of space on space into dimensions that fold like origami and blossom like strange orchids, and which would mark the last good time before the eventual end of everything and the next Big Bang,

I know better than to say Orlando fills this empty void I've had inside of me. He doesn't fix me, he makes me want to fix myself. Makes me realize that I can fix myself. When he's around, it's like there's nothing I can't do.

The pain in my heart was worse than anything I ever imagined. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could feel was the void of her absence growing stronger inside me, and the panic of not ever seeing her eyes open again struck me like an iron whip.

What have I done? Sweet Jesus, what have I done? Become a thief in the night, Become a dog on the run And have I fallen so far, And is the hour so late That nothing remains but the cry of my hate, The cries in the dark that nobody hears, Here where I stand at the turning of the years? If there's another way to go I missed it twenty long years ago My life was a war that could never be won They gave me a number and murdered Valjean When they chained me and left me for dead Just for stealing a mouthful of bread Yet why did I allow that man To touch my soul and teach me love? He treated me like any other He gave me his trust He called me brother My life he claims for God above Can such things be? For I had come to hate the world This world that always hated me Take an eye for an eye! Turn your heart into stone! This is all I have lived for! This is all I have known! One word from him and I'd be back Beneath the lash, upon the rack Instead he offers me my freedom I feel my shame inside me like a knife He told me that I have a soul, How does he know? What spirit comes to move my life? Is there another way to go? I am reaching, but I fall And the night is closing in And I stare into the void To the whirlpool of my sin I'll escape now from the world From the world of Jean Valjean Jean Valjean is nothing now Another story must begin!

She dances, She dances around the burning flames with passion, Under the same dull stars, Under the same hell with crimson embers crashing, Under the same silver chains that wires, All her beauty and who she is inside, She's left with the loneliness of human existence, She's left questioning how she's survived, She's left with this awakening of brutal resilience, Her true beauty that she denies, As much she's like to deny it, As much as it continues to shine, That she doesn't even have to admit, Because we all know it's true, Her glory and success, After all she's been through, Her triumph and madness, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Broken legs- but she's still standing, Still dancing in this void, You must wonder how she's still dancing, You must wonder how she's not destroyed, She doesn't even begin to drown within the flames, But little do you realize, Within these chains, She weeps and she cries, But she still goes on, And just you thought you could stop her? You thought you'd be the one? Well, let me tell you, because you thought wrong. Nothing will ever silence her, Because I KNOW, I know that she is admiringly strong, Her undeniable beauty, The triumph of her song, She's shining bright like a ruby, Reflecting in the golden sand, She's shining brighter like no other, She's far more than human or man, AND YET, SHE STANDS. She continues to dance with free-spirit, Even though she's locked in these chains, Though she never desired to change it, Even throughout the agonizing pain, Throughout all the distress, Anxiety, depression, tears and sorrow, She still dances so beautify in her dress, She looks forward to tomorrow, Not because of a fresh start but a new page, A new day full of opportunities, Despite being trapped in her cage, She still smiles after being beaten so brutally, A smile that could brighten anyone's day, She's so much more than anyone could ask for, She's so much more than I could ever say, She's a girl absolutely everyone should adore, She never gets in the way, Even after her hearts been broken, Even after the way she has been treated, After all these severe emotions, After all all the blood she's bled, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Even if sometimes she wonders why she's still here, She wonders why she's not dead, But there's this one thing that had been here throughout every tear, Throughout the blazing fire leaving her cheeks cherry red, Everyday this thing has given her a place to exist, This thing, person, these people, Like warm sunlight it had so softly kissed, The apples of her cheeks, Even when she's feeling feeble, Always there at her worst and at her best Because of you and all the other people, She has this thing deep inside her chest, That she will cherish forever, Even once you're gone, Because today she smiles like no other, Even when the sun sets at dawn, Because today is the day, She just wants you to remember, In dark and stormy weather, It gets better. And after what she's been through she knows, Throughout the highs and the lows, Because of you and all others, After crossing the seas, She has come to understand, You have formed this key, This key to free her from this land, This endless gorge that swallowed her, Her and other men, She had never knew, nor had she planned, That because of you, She's free. AND YET, THIS VERY DAY, SHE DANCES. EVEN IN THE RAIN.

turned out, a giant well of emptiness had always existed inside me. A void so deep and black and ugly, I wasn’t just empty, I was hollowed out by the losses in my life. Until there were days I didn’t dare go outside because I worried the wind would blow me away. The pills became my

And the dog episode?" He tried for innocence, but his laughter was echoing in her mind. "What do you mean?" "You know very well what I mean," she insisted. "When Dragon walked me home." "Ah,yes,I seem to recall now. The big bad wolf decked out in chains and spikes, afraid of a little dog." "Little? A hundred-and-twenty-pound Rottweiler mix? Foaming at the mouth. Roaring.Charging him!" "He ran like a rabbit." Gregori's soft, caressing voice echoed his satisfaction. He had taken great pleasure in running that particular jackass off.How dare the man try to lay a hand on Savannah? "No wonder I couldn't touch the dog's mind and call him off. You rotten scoundrel." "After Dragon left you,I chased him for two blocks, and he went up a tree. I kept him there for several hours, just to make a point.He looked like a rooster with his orange comb." She laughed in spite of her desire not to. "He never came near me again." "Of course not.It was unacceptable," he said complacently,with complete satisfaction, the warmth of his breath heating her blood. His mouth touched, skimmed, moved across her nipple, branding her with his heat, with flame, before finding the underside of her breast. Savannah closed her eyes against a need so intense that she shook with it. How could she want something that hurt so terribly? No pain,ma petite,only pleasure. His tongue created an aching void in her. I swear it on my life. His mouth was hot velvet closing over her breast. Fire danced over her skin, invading her body, melted her insides so that she was liquid heat, pulsing with need for him, only for him.

Every loud and perfect symphony, every immaculate clash of pastel colours in every sky that this stupid, beautiful world has ever given us — he is all of it. He is the drug. Every high I’ve ever chased, every good feeling, every momentarily filled void. His hands on my body, his mouth on my mouth, him inside of me — everyone else is Vicodin, morphine and fentanyl, but Christian — he’s the good stuff.

They would have thought me mad, even Kristabel. Flying carriages. People who live forever. Hundreds of inhabited worlds. Machine servants instead of genistars. Cities where Makkathran would be naught but a small district. A civilization where justice was available to all. Aliens. More stars in the sky than it is possible to count. No, such marvels of my fevered imagination were best kept inside my skull.

prove to her, no matter where The Fates took us, she always had been and always would be mine. Whether she was mine in the realm of the living or the afterlife, I would follow her wherever she went. Should the day come when she died her true death without me, I would accompany her to the Void to await the final judgment of The Father and The Mother. I would never return to a life without Estrella, without the warmth of her burning light shining around me.

happy. Look at the ocean and smile. Inhale the scent and celebrate. Remember me. Remember that I was never sad for more than a day, rarely for more than an hour. Remember the amazing times we had and what a goofball I was. Remember that I was scared of anything with more than four legs but fearless of adventure. Remember. Carry me inside you as a light that brightens your world and makes everything better. I don’t want to be a void, a hole, a shadow. REMEMBER ME!

The Beginning Meet me back at the beginning. Where the stars lined up and parted the skies, drawing a line from me to you. Meet me in the space. Where we reached inside the darkness, touched hearts, and found each other. Meet me under the trees. Where we lay, spending countless hours retelling our pasts in grand detail. Meet me under the arch. Where we professed our love and promised for better or for worse. Meet me at worse. Where we chose to ignore the promises and the trees as we navigated the dark void of stars.

The second thing I thought was that I knew everything. Lettie Hempstock’s ocean flowed inside me, and it filled the entire universe, from Egg to Rose. I knew that. I knew what Egg was—where the universe began, to the sound of uncreated voices singing in the void—and I knew where Rose was—the peculiar crinkling of space on space into dimensions that fold like origami and blossom like strange orchids, and which would mark the last good time before the eventual end of everything and the next Big Bang, which would be, I knew now, nothing of the kind.

Yes. A custom. Everything according to the rules, then. But Lila, as usual, hadn’t stopped there, she had soon gone further. As we worked with brushes and paints, she told me that she had begun to see in that formula an indirect object of place to which, as if Cerullo Carracci somehow indicated that Cerullo goes toward Carracci, falls into it, is sucked up by it, is dissolved in it. And, from the abrupt assignment of the role of speech maker at her wedding to Silvio Solara, from the entrance into the restaurant of Marcello Solara, wearing on his feet, no less, the shoes that Stefano had led her to believe he considered a sacred relic, from her honeymoon and the beatings, up until that installation—in the void that she felt inside, the living thing determined by Stefano—she had been increasingly oppressed by an unbearable sensation, a force pushing down harder and harder, crushing her. That impression had been getting stronger, had prevailed. Raffaella Cerullo, overpowered, had lost her shape and had dissolved inside the outlines of Stefano, becoming a subsidiary emanation of him: Signora Carracci. It was then that I began to see in the panel the traces of what she was

Until my thirtieth year, I lived in a state of almost continuous anxiety interspersed with periods of suicidal depression. It feels now as if I am talking about some past lifetime or somebody else’s life. One night not long after my twenty-ninth birthday, I woke up in the early hours with a feeling of absolute dread. I had woken up with such a feeling many times before, but this time it was more intense than it had ever been. The silence of the night, the vague outlines of the furniture in the dark room, the distant noise of a passing train – everything felt so alien, so hostile, and so utterly meaningless that it created in me a deep loathing of the world. The most loathsome thing of all, however, was my own existence. What was the point in continuing to live with this burden of misery? Why carry on with this continuous struggle? I could feel that a deep longing for annihilation, for nonexistence, was now becoming much stronger than the instinctive desire to continue to live. ‘I cannot live with myself any longer.’ This was the thought that kept repeating itself in my mind. Then suddenly I became aware of what a peculiar thought it was. ‘Am I one or two? If I cannot live with myself, there must be two of me: the ‘I’ and the ‘self’ that ‘I’ cannot live with.’ ‘Maybe,’ I thought, ‘only one of them is real.’ I was so stunned by this strange realization that my mind stopped. I was fully conscious, but there were no more thoughts. Then I felt drawn into what seemed like a vortex of energy. It was a slow movement at first and then accelerated. I was gripped by an intense fear, and my body started to shake. I heard the words ‘resist nothing,’ as if spoken inside my chest. I could feel myself being sucked into a void. It felt as if the void was inside myself rather than outside. Suddenly, there was no more fear, and I let myself fall into that void. I have no recollection of what happened after that. I was awakened by the chirping of a bird outside the window. I had never heard such a sound before. My eyes were still closed, and I saw the image of a precious diamond. Yes, if a diamond could make a sound, this is what it would be like. I opened my eyes. The first light of dawn was filtering through the curtains. Without any thought, I felt, I knew, that there is infinitely more to light than we realize. That soft luminosity filtering through the curtains was love itself. Tears came into my eyes. I got up and walked around the room. I recognized the room, and yet I knew that I had never truly seen it before. Everything was fresh and pristine, as if it had just come into existence. I picked up things, a pencil, an empty bottle, marvelling at the beauty and aliveness of it all. That day I walked around the city in utter amazement at the miracle of life on earth, as if I had just been born into this world.

My father is still searching for his happiness. I can't fill that void for him, just like he can't fill mine. It is neither of our responsibilities. And now, I must release him from the task. He is not my hero. And in this moment I feel guilty for putting that pressure on his shoulders. What a heavy weight to carry for a person who is just as broken as I am. What a burden to bear for an empty man. My father is human, flawed and imperfect, and the inevitable truth about the chaos that rages inside of me is that he cannot clean it up. Only I can do that. So my fantasy of my father must reach its final chapter . My fairy tale of him must come to an end. Sometimes little girls must become their own heroes.

Simply put, I got pulled through the wormhole of the Absolute, and in that rush I suddenly understood the workings of the universe completely. I left my body, I left the room, I left the planet, I stepped through time and I entered the void. I was inside the void, but I also was the void and I was looking at the void, all at the same time. The void was a place of limitless peace and wisdom, The void was conscious and intelligent. The void was God, which means that I was inside God. But not in a gross, physical way - not like I was Liz Gilbert stuck inside a chunk of God's thigh muscle. I just was part of God. In addition to being God. I was both a tiny piece of the universe and exactly the same size as the universe. ("All know that the drop merges into ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop," wrote the sage Kabir - and I can personally attest now that this is true.) It wasn't hallucinogenic, what I was feeling. It was the most basic of events. It was heaven, yes. It was the deepest love I'd ever experienced, beyond anything I could previously imagined, but it wasn't euphoric. It wasn't exciting. There wasn't enough ego or passion left in me to create euphoria and excitement. It was just obvious. Like when you've been looking at an optical illusion for a long time, straining your eyes to decode the trick, and suddenly your cognizance shifts and there - now you can clearly see it! - the two vases are actually two faces. And once you've seen through the optical illusion, you can never not see it again. "So this is God," I thought. "Congratulations to meet you." -

She dances, She dances around the burning flames with passion, Under the same dull stars, Under the same hell with crimson embers crashing, Under the same silver chains that wires, All her beauty and who she is inside, She's left with the loneliness of human existence, She's left questioning how she's survived, She's left with this awakening of brutal resilience, Her true beauty that she denies, As much she's like to deny it, As much as it continues to shine, That she doesn't even have to admit, Because we all know it's true, Her glory and success, After all she's been through, Her triumph and madness, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Broken legs- but she's still standing, Still dancing in this void, You must wonder how she's still dancing, You must wonder how she's not destroyed, She doesn't even begin to drown within the flames, But little do you realize, Within these chains, She weeps and she cries, But she still goes on, And just you thought you could stop her? You thought you'd be the one? Well, let me tell you, because you thought wrong. Nothing will ever silence her, Because I KNOW, I know that she is admiringly strong, Her undeniable beauty, The triumph of her song, She's shining bright like a ruby, Reflecting in the golden sand, She's shining brighter like no other, She's far more than human or man, AND YET, SHE STANDS. She continues to dance with free-spirit, Even though she's locked in these chains, Though she never desired to change it, Even throughout the agonizing pain, Throughout all the distress, Anxiety, depression, tears and sorrow, She still dances so beautify in her dress, She looks forward to tomorrow, Not because of a fresh start but a new page, A new day full of opportunities, Despite being trapped in her cage, She still smiles after being beaten so brutally, A smile that could brighten anyone's day, She's so much more than anyone could ask for, She's so much more than I could ever say, She's a girl absolutely everyone should adore, She never gets in the way, Even after her hearts been broken, Even after the way she has been treated, After all these severe emotions, After all all the blood she's bled, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Even if sometimes she wonders why she's still here, She wonders why she's not dead, But there's this one thing that had been here throughout every tear, Throughout the blazing fire leaving her cheeks cherry red, Everyday this thing has given her a place to exist, This thing, person, these people, Like warm sunlight it had so softly kissed, The apples of her cheeks, Even when she's feeling feeble, Always there at her worst and at her best Because of you and all the other people, She has this thing deep inside her chest, That she will cherish forever, Even once you're gone, Because today she smiles like no other, Even when the sun sets at dawn, Because today is the day, She just wants you to remember, In dark and stormy weather, It gets better. And after what she's been through she knows, Throughout the highs and the lows, Because of you and all others, After crossing the seas, She has come to understand, You have formed this key, This key to free her from this land, This endless gorge that swallowed her, Her and other men, She had never knew, nor had she planned, That because of you, She's free. AND YET, THIS VERY DAY, SHE STILL DANCES, EVEN IN THE RAIN.

The more I try to fill this void, the deeper the hole and the wider the gap between my current state and my desired contentment. What will fill the space? Comfort foods have provided an external cushion to the pain, but ultimately they fail to comfort. The passionate embrace of another has provided momentary satisfaction, but cannot restore my value or self-worth. Many substances help dull my awareness of the empty space inside, but none have poured in anything of substance. Each has only served to take more out of me. When all my vices have been spent and all my tokens have been played, will there be anything left of me to give, or will the shell that is left only be a hollow reminder of the person I could have been? You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water. Psalm 63:1 NIV

I feel I must burst because of all that life offers me and because of the prospect of death. I feel that I am dying of solitude, of love, of despair, of hatred, of all that this world offers me. With every experience I expand like a balloon blown up beyond its capacity. The most terrifying intensification bursts into nothingness. You grow inside, you dilate madly until there are no boundaries left, you reach the edge of light, where light is stolen by night, and from that plenitude as in a savage whirlwind you are thrown straight into nothingness. Life breeds both plenitude and void, exuberance and depression. What are we when confronted with the interior vortex which swallows us into absurdity? I feel my life cracking within me from too much intensity, too much disequilibrium. It is like an explosion which cannot be contained, which throws you up in the air along with everything else

It was on this day, during this terrible and wonderful run, that a thought occurred to me, a thought which has never left me" I've always considered the question to be. "Why am I alive? Why am I here? What’s the point of me?? And to that I say WHO CARES! FORGET THE WHY. YOU ARE IN A RAGING FOREST FULL OF BEAUTY AND AGONY AND MAGICAL GRAPEY BEVERAGES AND LIGHTNING STORMS AND DEMON BEES. THIS IS BETTER THAN THE WHY. I run because I seek that clarity. Maybe it’s superficial. Maybe its’s just adrenaline and endorphins and serotine flooding my brain. But I don’t care. I run very fast because I desperately want to stand very still. I run to seek a void. The world around me is so very, very loud. It begs me to slow down, to sit down, to lie down. And the buzzing of the world is nothing compared to the noise inside my head. I’m an introspective person, and sometimes I think too much, about my job and about my life. I feed an army of pointless, bantering demons. But when I run, the world grows quiet. Demons are forgotten, Krakens are slain, and Blerches are silenced. THE END.

The people who build high, strong fences are the ones who survive the best. You deny that reality only at the risk of being driven into the wilderness yourself' - Oshima, 316 I'm empty-handed now. The can of yellow spray paint, the little hatchet- they're history. The daypack's gone as well. No canteen, no food. Not even the compass. One by one I left these behind. Doing this gives a visible message to the forest: I'm not afraid anymore. That's why I choose to be totally defenseless. Minus my hard shell, ust flesh and bones, I head for the core of the labyrinth, giving myself up to the void. ... But I gradually get better at letting these threats pass me by. This forest is basically a part of me, isn't it? This thought takes hold at a certain point. The journey I'm taking is inside me . Just like blood travels down veins, what I'm seeing is my inner self, and what seems threatening is just the echo of fear in my own heart. The spiderweb stretched taut there is the spiderweb inside me. The birds calling out overhead are birds I've fostered in my mind. These images spring up in my mind and take root. - Kafka, 396-7

There was only one Mama, and the world has lost her, but it keeps turning. But for me, I live in that void where her love and her voice and her kindness used to be. And in so many ways, even moving forward, I’m standing still. I am suddenly aware of everyone’s compassion, this collective kindness for which I was unprepared. It penetrates the wall I use to insulate my grief and hide the lingering pain. I hate that these tears keep assaulting me when I least expect them. That sadness ambushes me. That the desolation Mama’s absence creates inside of me is inescapable, even here at Thanksgiving dinner in front of Rhyson’s family before we’ve even served dessert. And I hate this awkward quiet while they all try to figure out if it’s okay to move on or if they wait for me to get it together. Only this time I can’t. I’m trapped in this moment while I reach for my composure in vain. Breathing in and deeply usually helps, but I’m too far gone. My heart is too raw today. A sob erupts into the silence. I’m horrified that my body is betraying me this way. That my emotions are this undisciplined, wet spill over my cheeks. I squeeze the linen napkin in my lap until I’m sure I’ll draw blood from it, but the tears won’t stop. The pain doesn’t stop. I leak it. I lose it. I cannot stop it. I cover my face with

Tamlin's claws punched out. 'Even if I risked it, you're untrained abilities render your presence more of a liability than anything.' It was like being hit with stones- so hard I could feel myself cracking. But I lifted my chin and said, 'I'm coming along whether you want me to or not.' 'No, you aren't.' He strode right through the door, his claws slashing the air at his sides, and was halfway down the steps before I reached the threshold. Where I slammed into an invisible wall. I staggered back, trying to reorder my mind around the impossibility of it. It was identical to the one I'd built that day in the study, and I searched inside the shards of my soul, my heart, for a tether to that shield, wondering if I'd blocked myself, but- there was no power emanating from me. I reached a hand to the open air of the doorway. And met solid resistance. 'Tamlin,' I rasped. But he was already down the front drive, walking towards the looming iron gates. Lucien remained at the foot of the stairs, his face so, so pale. 'Tamlin,' I said again, pushing against the wall. He didn't turn. I slammed my hand into the invisible barrier. No movement- nothing but hardened air. And I had not learned about my own powers enough to try to push through, to shatter it... I had let him convince me not to learn those things for his sake- 'Don't bother trying,' Lucien said softly, as Tamlin cleared the gates and vanished- winnowed. 'He shielded the entire house around you. Others can go in and out, but you can't. Not until he lifts the shield.' He'd locked me in here. I hit the shield again. Again. Nothing. 'Just- be patient, Feyre,' Lucien tried, wincing as he followed after Tamlin. 'Please. I'll see what I can do. I'll try again.' I barely heard him over the roar in my ears. Didn't wait to see him pass the gates and winnow, too. He'd locked me in. He'd sealed me inside the house. I hurtled for the nearest window in the foyer and shoved it open. A cool spring breeze rushed in- and I shoved my hand through it- only for my fingers to bounce off an invisible wall. Smooth, hard air pushed against my skin. Breathing became difficult. I was trapped. I was trapped inside this house. I might as well have been Under the Mountain. I might as well have been inside that cell again- I backed away, my steps too light, too fast, and slammed into the oak table in the centre of the foyer. None of the nearby sentries came to investigate. He'd trapped me in here; he'd locked me up. I stopped seeing the marble floor, or the paintings on the walls, or the sweeping staircase looming behind me. I stopped hearing the chirping of the spring birds, or the sighing of the breeze through the curtains. And then crushing black pounded down and rose up beneath, devouring and roaring and shredding. It was all I could do to keep from screaming, to keep from shattering into ten thousand pieces as I sank onto the marble floor, bowing over my knees, and wrapped my arms around myself. He'd trapped me; he'd trapped me; he'd trapped me- I had to get out, because I'd barely escaped from another prison once before, and this time, this time- Winnowing. I could vanish into nothing but air and appear somewhere else, somewhere open and free. I fumbled for my power, for anything, something that might show me the way to do it, the way out. Nothing. There was nothing and I had become nothing, and I couldn't even get out- Someone was shouting my name from far away. Alis- Alis. But I was ensconced in a cocoon of darkness and fire and ice and wind, a cocoon that melted the ring off my finger until the folden ore dripped away into the void, the emerald tumbling after it. I wrapped that raging force around myself as if it could keep the walls from crushing me entirely, and maybe, maybe buy me the tiniest sip of air- I couldn't get out; I couldn't get out; I couldn't get out-

The trail wasn’t hard to follow. It had a pattern. An irregular patch of scattered spots that looked like spots of tar in the artificial light was interspersed every fourth or fifth step by a dark gleaming splash where blood had spurted from the wound. Now that all the soul people had been removed from the street, the five detectives moved swiftly. But they could still feel the presence of teeming people behind the dilapidated stone façades of the old reconverted buildings. Here and there the white gleams of eyes showed from darkened windows, but the silence was eerie. The trail turned from the sidewalk into an unlighted alleyway between the house beyond the rooming house, which described itself by a sign in a front window reading: Kitchenette Apts. All conveniences, and the weather-streaked red-brick apartment beyond that. The alleyway was so narrow they had to go in single file. The sergeant had taken the power light from his driver, Joe, and was leading the way himself. The pavement slanted down sharply beneath his feet and he almost lost his step. Midway down the blank side of the building he came to a green wooden door. Before touching it, he flashed his light along the sides of the flanking buildings. There were windows in the kitchenette apartments, but all from the top to the bottom floor had folding iron grilles which were closed and locked at that time of night, and dark shades were drawn on all but three. The apartment house had a vertical row of small black openings one above the other at the rear. They might have been bathroom windows but no light showed in any of them and the glass was so dirty it didn’t shine. The blood trail ended at the green door. “Come out of there,” the sergeant said. No one answered. He turned the knob and pushed the door and it opened inward so silently and easily he almost fell into the opening before he could train his light. Inside was a black dark void. Grave Digger and Coffin Ed flattened themselves against the walls on each side of the alley and their big long-barreled .38 revolvers came glinting into their hands. “What the hell!” the sergeant exclaimed, startled. His assistants ducked. “This is Harlem,” Coffin Ed grated and Grave Digger elaborated: “We don’t trust doors that open.” Ignoring them, the sergeant shone his light into the opening. Crumbling brick stairs went down sharply to a green iron grille. “Just a boiler room,” the sergeant said and put his shoulders through the doorway. “Hey, anybody down there?” he called. Silence greeted him. “You go down, Joe, I’ll light your way,” the sergeant said. “Why me?” Joe protested. “Me and Digger’ll go,” Coffin Ed said. “Ain’t nobody there who’s alive.

The hoard here is just as regimented, kept hidden from prying eyes by its obsessive use of containers. But I know from looking in that cupboard that inside those cardboard boxes is a wormhole to a world of chaos. That is what she was always like, I suppose, rigid control on the surface, and the howling void beneath. That's why so many people cling so desperately to their semblances of discipline, their habits, schedules, routines, diets, personal trainers, personal grooming, theories of morality. It's all about the fear of the chaos beneath. It's certainly true of India, nothing in her life is real unless it's been ticked off on a list. For us, the recognition of the void came so early that we were always going to go one of two ways, spend our lives fighting valiantly to hold back the tide the way she does, or, like me, accept the truth and let the chaos reign.

to his, before pulling out slowly, leaving a void inside of me that quickly fills with a warm, honey-like fulfillment. I gather my breath and straighten up, leaning against the wall. My heart is pounding in my chest and my knees are shaking. All I can think is, I’ve never been fucked like this before. Dylan kisses the back of my neck gently and I purr happily. “Was it good?” I ask, softly. “You’re always good,” he says, brushing my hair over my shoulder to plant another soft peck along the upper part of my neck. “You’re just…perfect for me.”   As I get dressed afterward, Dylan stands near the doorway in the manner that boyfriends, husbands, and – well, whatever the hell we are – have waited for women since the beginning of time. Impatiently, inexplicably, and long-since ready. Once I’m finished with my outfit selection, make-up, and hair, I step out of the bathroom and walk towards him. “Ready now?” he says, doing a decent job of hiding

Over the past few months, I had taken every precaution to avoid the local papers and Internet sites. I did everything, other than migrating out of the country. My darkest nightmare was to stumble across a picture of Troy with one of his Catalinas on his arm. I knew it would crush my soul into dust. Physically, I was fine. My temple was healed, and so was my foot. The cast was off, and I had even started running again. But inside, emptiness ate away at every corner of my being. No amount of blueberry pancakes was going to fill that void. Trust me, I’d tried.

It’s hard,” she said, gazing back at the crowd of faces. “I mean, I’ve got more than most. I’ve got my dad and my son. But there’s something missing, and it feels like there always has been. A dark void that exists inside of me.” ​“It’s common to feel like that. It’s that void which we fill with our vices in a desperate attempt to find fulfillment within ourselves. What we should really fill it with is more constructive things. Your college course, for instance. Your father told the group before that he had been very proud of you as a child. He told us that you were extremely bright.

WE CARRY ON If you are feeling lonely and lost As your eyes meet my words On the page of the book you hold On glass screens on some device This was meant to be You connecting with me Are you feeling the life fatigue That gaping void and ennui From all the sudden changes In the slow and stuck life cycles Your sparkle subdued With postponed dreams Does it dull your shine When you think about your existence And wonder about the grand purpose With no real answers Lost and drowning Looking for a spark Know you are not alone, never alone With a glowing spirit inside, vibrant life outside You matter, have every right live Don’t you give up, for I too am trying Not knowing what comes next Living and loving as I know how ~June Samuel

Our universe of gold Until then let the gold in me spread all across the sea, For in the sea of infinity, there is the pine tree, the moonlight, but you are my only royalty, For whom in actuality I created the gold sea, The mist , the river and all await to be kissed by your beauty, to feel that eternal reality! Welcome to my universe Irma, where everything is for you, The pine tree, the mist, the river and even their maker, Who has missed you and always sought you, Right from childhood when the universe was young and I was still a silly dreamer, Maybe you still want to ponder on accepting me as your lover, Because I live in rooms, I am homeless, but I never live in empty spaces, I fill them with my love, my passion like a true seeker, But in doing so , I sometimes feel emptiness within me and only your love can fill these void spaces, So rescue me and I shall rescue you right back, I will let you be the little girl still inside you, Who can fearlessly traverse the lengths of my universe white and black, Where everything is for you because it exists because of you!

There’s always been a part of me that is vast and empty. Though I have a vivid inner life and find so much meaning in books, art, writing, and relationships, there’s something deep inside me that feels like an insatiable pit. No matter the circumstances, there’s never enough. Maybe that’s one way to describe my depression: a bottomless desire for which I will destroy everything in my path in a fruitless attempt to satisfy. Beauty in its various forms is what makes me feel most complete—a poem that obliterates me, a painting that makes me gasp, a song that fills me with inexplicable wonder. But once that passes, it’s there again: the absence, the void, the need, the gaping hole of nothingness.

I crave things I've forgetten how to get. An old life, maybe. That's what it really is: a need for something I've lost long ago. A life that's good and decent and void of the bone-breaking pain that lives inside me now.

I’m looking out on the road the sky is bright the wind is cold. The wind my element it blows so hard, the sheer force of the world is felt in this air. I feel the life being ****** out and then in to my body at the same time such a beautiful sensation. This is the sensation right before you begin the Great Work when you feel the energy of the universe. The energy just whirling around in circles the path of lapis ruber or another path. But my journey if not for lapis philosophorum my journey is for blank, my mind is not for anything. The journey I travel is not for life it is not for death this journey is not for a **** thing in existence. My journey is for something much more what it is only one on the road will understand. So when I feel the wind blowing I ask myself is it time for me to move? Is it time to start? I am going to the center of the sun what will I do now that I’ve taken the first step has it all begun? It is not possible to turn back not in this particular journey. In this journey once you take a step, the platform you were walking on before is completely destroyed. It is swallowed up in the sea of what, the platform is consumed in the place of never-ending nothingness. Really it is not a place, it is swallowed in the void, so you can’t turn around even if you will it. Now I as I walk this path I sit here and I see the star, on it are five points. The five points of the star are all looking at me I just wonder if the look is inverted or upright. If it is observing me inverted what will I do? If it is watching me uprightly what can I do? These questions are both the same but which way is the star observing me. I couldn’t give a **** either way, but at certain points it seems I would give a ****, now why is that? See I’m on a spiraling path of this something, and it’s becoming clear, it’s not that I’m stepping forward. In this journey I am not stepping forward I am not stepping backwards I am doing much more. But I am stepping. That’s the beauty of this journey where time ceases to exist. It’s because at the end of this journey I might have explored the universe in its entirety. I may have went to the edge of this universe of motion and jumped off the edge. I would have slipped through the corners barely escaping the hound dogs of the barrier. And after facing the eternal beasts, I would have ended up back inside of the universe. It’s funny because after this timeless journey, I may have gained so much and time will have certainly passed. est ruber in terra, populous non est faciem in principia pater sol regnat in terra humanos est regnant. deus sol non est in oceanaia luna non est in caelum nocte quam quam non lux. non lux quam quam sol non est regnat. hominis the rise of the moon is so great that the light of the sun can be overtake. But the light of the moon come from the light of the sun there is nothing else that can actually and truly be done. What to be done is what to be given to all who want to go forward in the way of life. The path of love and the path of light leads to the same sources it is up to one of us to decide which one will be our tool. Back to what I was talking about the sand was awesome. The alpha and the omega a rise of the sun and the fall of the moon also rise of the moon and the fall of the sun.

I am writing to console the part of me I lost somewhere between the moment of birth and death that keeps me searching and bound forever inside these ruins. I am writing to preserve the fragment of sensitivity that has survived, like a falling star that keeps burning despite the relentless pressure of the atmosphere to disintegrate into the calm blue void.

We hang upside down from the railing bats looking to the void in our down time. missus technology teacher stared at one of the hours too much. the hour stared back. she throws a reason at us every time. we get bloated from some of the curses. we’re coming apart nuts bolts and all. a new heart waiting. one liver at a time. powder kegs we sometimes crane our necks flashing on low heat dry beans. we remember the herbarium book of nerves. forget that we’re alive. we don’t even hope for death. how can you keep fireflies from roaming in the hallways you disappoint me I tell them. they don’t want to go to class to put good behaviors on their desks mister German teacher has two watches one for each building. he’s not even a minute late in building A or building B. when he misses a minute he crouches down covers his eyes with his hands to cry on the inside. a child who doesn’t arrive on time. we coddle him we’re kind. (translated by Diana Manole)

He ran his hand over mine, searching for any sign of the snake or the blight I’d touched.  “Where’s the snake, min asteren?” he asked, studying my hand. He shoved the sleeves of my tunic up, searching along my arms.  “It wasn’t time for it to be born yet,” I said, knowing instinctively. The image I’d had, the snake curling around me, had been a flash of its future life. A moment of what would come after the soul rested in the Void.  A reincarnation revealed. Holt turned his stare to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, because that’s not fucking creepy or anything.

I think, that tennis uses the language of life. Advantage, service, fault, break, love, the basic elements of tennis are those of everyday existence, because every match is a life in miniature. Even the structure of tennis, the way the pieces fit inside one another like Russian nesting dolls, mimics the structure of our days. Points become games become sets become tournaments, and it’s all so tightly connected that any point can become the turning point. It reminds me of the way seconds become minutes become hours, and any hour can be our finest. Or darkest. It’s our choice. But if tennis is life, then what follows tennis must be the unknowable void. The thought makes me cold.

But I'm not a writer..." How many times have you thought that? How many times have you said it out loud? How many times have you read a beautifully worded book or a poem or an essay or a social media post and felt it take your breath away? Felt that yearning inside of you, that longing to do that or learn that or become that thing...the one that would let you find the words to share your story like that. If only you were brave enough. If only you were wise enough. If only you had all the right words. If only you were talented. If only you could speak the truth without being judged. If only you could write like her or him or them. If only you were a writer... Guess what. You are. You are a writer - and I promise you this. If you were not a writer you wouldn't be here. You are a writer because words dance in your brain and itch the tips of your fingers - begging you to pick up the pen or click the keyboard. Because a phrase on a page or the lyric of a song can steal your breath and remind you of all lines that live in your soul that long for release. Because you are pulled, again and again, and again to story. To the real and raw and the fantastically make-believe. You are a writer because of your willingness to stare into the void and face the demons and weave the beauty of the world around you into words. And even if those words don't ever make it to a page, they live inside of you. Because you couldn't stop, even if you wanted to. And you don't want to. Because the words are like your breath and the story - your story - that is the air. And the magic that happens when we come together to make stories - well, that's the universe. So the next time you're tempted to let that phrase or any other like it - slip into your brain or from your lips - shut that shit down. Immediately. You are a writer. Do you hear me? You said yes. You are here. You are showing up at the page and sitting in front of the screen. You are welcoming the muse. You are facing the fear. And you are writing. You are a writer. And that's the beginning and end of everything. Now, stop arguing with me, and go write already.

But even when he's deep inside me, my husband is out of my reach. Even now, I still miss him so much. When he leaves my body, he leaves a gaping wound, a horrible void, a gash waiting to be infected.

Hand in hand, my love, come away with me into the blackness— by the trunk of an old strong oak: I long to hold you all through the night and, knowing not of dawn, to not talk once— a pair of hands nightswept-earth…. Dawning starlight above splinters the sky to nerves— now's time for leaving: poised on the verge of shorelines burgeoning everything inside is raw and tingling…. Over the mountain in utter aloneness winds are blowing in a cold void…. Just a few promises I’d packed when I made my way east like a cloud torn from moorings always there've been those of us who sought their origins on the road — under an empty moon— and the origins of origins…. In electrical well-spring vision nuzzled in the bosom of hills on the roaming magnetic earth— far away though they are the cloud-river of stars configures over and over these visions of you…. Shaking off its dust— that glittering icy swirl abides…. On the roaming magnetic earth lying flat, my eyes shocked awake by the electric liquid light: chilling winds do not chill me I know no harm can hold me even a killing wound will only seep me back into the stars... be seeping out from me: in the float of her womb and cradled from the cold— that cradle-of-stars hanging the milky way…. Over the bay just-beginning—a cusp and crescent sliver—by the constellations paling fading…. Transient as I am from before and into after— like blue vapor, breath travels in a light from long ago… here though I knew she'd be to be here with her in scorn of all happenstance is more than a choice: a joy that's almost loss— lightning and paralysis…. The blue fire of delight flickers through sockets of her skull— so all the world knows not or pretends not to know: a person takes a lifetime to get to know but the thrill of remembrance when our eyes met was just one instant: it happens all the time….

The evening was everything I'd ever dreamed of from a man. The most Max had ever cooked for me were some drunken pizza rolls. And yet, I could still feel that void inside of me that ached for something more. I'd gotten William the lover, but where was William the killer? Maybe I'd been misinterpreting my dreams all along. It was possible that I'd always wanted violence and not love. Or maybe I'd intertwined those things so closely that it was impossible to separate them.

So in my mind, God’s question during that encounter in church had less to do with the content — having a family — and more to do with His nature. Why would He put this desire deep within my core only to ask me to relinquish it? Why invite me to travel a road with a dead end? It took me three days to respond. I knew the right answer, but I couldn’t speak it. Instead, I spent hours picturing a life like the one God was asking me to consider, void of family but full of Him. Could I love a God who might take away the very desire He put in me? Could I trust the leadership of a Man when the mystery He offered wasn’t wondrous but perplexing? Could I further engage with the very One on whose watch I was wounded? Somehow, out of this darkness, which seemed so bleak, came a response that I didn’t expect. It was so unlike me that I knew I was being overshadowed. The Holy Spirit erected a resolve in my soul that my flesh could not have produced. Yes! I was made for this yes, and the God whose Spirit meshed with mine inside of me produced it. The question and His answer, from within me, changed everything. Yes, I could love Him. Yes, I could trust His leadership. Yes, I could even find delight and joy and contentment living from the underside of mystery — perplexity. Yes, there was a dance to be danced in this valley.

Look at you. Opening right up for me,” Michaels said, softly, his fingers twisting and burying as deep as he could. He could feel Michaels’ other fingers pressing against his flesh while the two inside him probed for depth. When Michaels picked up speed, his fingers jabbing in and out of him, Judge grunted and fisted the sheets. As soon as those fingers were gone, Judge felt an unbelievable void. He pumped his hips against the soft sheets, needing the friction, anything to take his mind off of feeling empty inside. He

I wasn't dead. This meant something. We all take our lives for granted so often, we forget that this, right here, this moment, is worth living for. We get caught up in whatever melodrama we have created, or whatever struggle we are going through, or let whatever empty void in our soul swallow us hole. Like a wrecking ball smashing into a skyscraper, something in me broke, and from that moment on, something inside me came alive again. I was alive.

I’d begun to feel as if there was a creeping deadness inside me, encroaching on the calm and replacing it with a black void, a vacuum where emotion should be. And the deadness was growing and penetrating every corner of my soul, reaching out its dark tentacles to smother all natural reactions.

Just inside the front door, he collapsed, sliding down the wall to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest. She hates me now. Utterly and without a doubt. Hates me. Well good—that was what he’d wanted. Wasn’t it? Self loathing rolled through him in waves like nausea until he knew he was going to be sick. Heaving himself to his feet, he just made it to the bathroom in time to void the contents of his stomach. When he was empty, he splashed water from the sink in his face and rubbed his cheeks and mouth vigorously with a towel. Looking up into the viewer, he saw emptiness—a male with nothing left to lose. Nothing left because he’d just thrown away the most precious thing in his life. Thrown it away like a piece of garbage to lie rotting and festering in a dump. “I killed it,” he said aloud, addressing the hated face in the mirror. “Anything she felt for me is dead now.” But

Prince Yosef glanced at the bright anomaly and also wondered if it would ever cease existing or if it were to be a permanent addition to the night sky. “But then, what is permanent? The stars that men gaze on, are they really there? The atmosphere of the earth, has it always been oxygen? Could it not have been another substance? The animals on the earth, were they always as they were or were there different types?” Yosef pondered. “How often have oceans risen and fallen? “The mysterious light that has been present since Miriam’s conception, does it descend from a star that is real or from a star that had perished eons ago? Do our words somehow remain, captured in the atmosphere, waiting to return to someone’s ears. The internal energy of man—his soul—when it perishes, as it must, will the man whom it embraced be forgotten? “Ideologies, how often do they change? Every generation? Every hundred years? Every thousand years? Mohse wrote the books of constant law! Ezra sealed them, making them unchangeable! But then the Greeks came. They invaded the world with different ideas. Different ways of discerning truth! Cyrus came before them with his Zoroastrianism, challenging the established Marduk! Can Yehuway’s truth reside alongside Greeks and Babylonian philosophers? No. For man is a thing inside Yehuway, and without Yehuway, what can be? Can Yehuway perish leaving us behind?” Yosef shook his head. “No! Yehuway’s essence cannot perish! Nothing exists without Yehuway! The Greeks’ intellect, how cunning is its invasion into the concrete reality of Mohse! Hellenistic thoughts have penetrated and conquered the P’rushim’ and Tz’dukim’ intellect. Immortality of the soul! No resurrection! No angels. Heaven’s reward and hell’s damnation according to one’s earthly deeds! All invasive Greek ideologies that are steadfastly adhering and corrupting the Mosaic truths. The Greeks’ intellect is an infectious intellect, founded on nothing but myth and fantasy. “It is man’s spirit that transcends itself to wait in a holding place in Yehuway’s memory. The Greeks declared a heaven and a hell. A tormenting residence and a rewarding residence. Such invasive thoughts are hideous to me. Paganism at its supreme level! The soul perishes. All thoughts become nonexistent! The body is consumed by the earth’s processes. A well versed man in the laws of Yehuway could not accept anything else! I will teach my son to be aware of false tautologies. “It is the personality of the individual that is remembered by Yehuway and it is that exact personality that is brought back to life. It will come back in a different body. In a different tone of voice. But the mannerisms will be the same. The intellect identical. “Yet, what man can return if the Mashi’ach fails in his mission to ransom man’s sins? What man may dwell alongside his past, risen ancestors if the Mashi’ach fails? What man can be if the Mashi’ach fails? What future can there be? Before Adam was created there was void! What is void? It is nothingness. It is total darkness! Total nonexistence. No thoughts. No light. No stars. No motions of the wind or of the seas.

I swallowed the truth, which only made that gaping void of need inside me yawn wider. Just because you survive something does not mean you are strong.

But Kelsea could not even remember what reason she had cobbled together for mutilating Thorne. She remembered doing the deed, remembered black wings opening inside her, a darkness so inviting that a newly crowned Kelsea Glynn, one who seemed years younger in hindsight, had longed to lose herself inside it. But only madness waited there, the same madness that Finn and his ilk had always wanted to inflict on the Tearling...greed and callousness, lack of empathy, a narrowing of mind until only one lonely voice was left, surrounded by a void into which it could howl only a single word: Me.

I, on the other hand, have never had time for more than just the moment, a string of casual encounters and short-lived flings that never quite managed to fill the void inside me. It’s relatively funny, knowing that I like to follow plans, schedules, and patterns in every other aspect of my life, but when it comes to love? That’s just an illusion, a fairy tale that I’ve long since stopped believing in.

I ain't ever felt special my whole life. "What did you feel?" "Hard to explain. Felt like the opposite of special. Like a big black void moving through the world. Empty, if not for all the people trying to fill it with their own judgments on me." "The thing about voids, Charlie Brunton, is ain't nothing inside of them but light they can' figure out how to free.

I’m looking at a fucking angel. My angel. My anchor. Mine. I love her more than life. She once told me she would never be loved the way I love her because it comes so naturally to people who are neurotypical, and for me to feel anything like that, I’d need to try extra hard and fall deeper than any typical love. She told me it was more than enough for her. There’s fucking concrete around my black heart like a shield, and she’s trapped inside it. That’s the only version of love I have, and I’ll make sure it’s always enough for Olivia to choose me, to never leave me, to love me until we grow old, die, and find each other in the void beyond.

The minute I knew help was at hand something had collapsed inside me. Whatever had been holding me together had gone. Now I could not think for myself, let alone crawl! There was nothing to fight for, no patterns to follow, no voice, and it frightened me to think that, without these, I might run out of life.

I did need him. I needed him to feed the addict in me. I needed him to fill the bottomless void inside me so I could feel whole again. We were tied together from the second we met.

Waiting for Steve to come back felt like forever. I had to be strong for Boney Pete, who paced the end stone the entire time, waiting for his friend to come back. I might have done the same if I wasn’t caring for Pete, stroking his spine and telling him that Steve was going to be all right. We knew he defeated Herobrine when Lucius began to glow. “Oh my!” he said as white light flashed from inside him, a lot like the ender dragon when it exploded, but he zero time to be afraid. The change happened so quick. One minute Lucius was a snow-white fox jumping in fright and the next he was a librarian villager spinning in circles, as if chasing his tail. When Lucius realized he no longer had a tail, he froze, and, trembling looked over his old body, newly acquired. “It feels so strange… I have hands. I - I have hands! HAHA!” He jumped for joy and ran to me, grabbing my hands and shouting, “Dance with me, Alex! Dance with me!” When he got tired of dancing he sat down. When he got tired of that he crawled on his hands and feet. “How did I ever get around on four legs? It is the most unnatural thing in the world.” Soon the realization hit us that it was over. Herobrine was defeated. Lucius paused party and looked back at the bridge. “But does that mean…” Boney Pete inched toward the bridge and whinnied into the void. He called and he called, but there was no answer. I walked up beside him and rubbed his neck. Boney Pete pushed his body against me and shuddered. I had to hold him up, or else he might have collapsed. “There there, buddy,” I said and pet his forehead, not sure how else to comfort an undead horse on the death of his friend. And the death of my friend… Steve… I could feel the stupid emotions filling me up and I hated it, but it also felt right, so I let the tears flow. I always hated crying, hated the way it made me feel—weak and powerless. Worse, I hated the way people looked at me when I cried, but I didn’t feel those things then. I just felt sad and crying felt good. I hugged Boney Pete tight and clung to his back. “I’m sorry, Pete,” I said. Then I heard something from the void bridge. A voice. “Ow… Ow… Ow… Ow… Ow…” Boney Pete and I raised our heads and there, coming across the bridge toward us, was Steve. We rushed to the edge of the end island, but still waited until he got off to crush him in a hug. Boney Pete got him first, and then me, and then Lucius. Steve winced each time we hugged him, and I saw why. His leg was twisted in a way that no amount of cooked chicken would heal. “Your leg…” I said and reached my hand toward it, but Steve flinched back. “Yeah, I used an ender pearl to escape falling into the void and the fall damage got my leg pretty good. I think my hero days are over, and honestly that sounds okay with me.” He rubbed Boney Pete. “What do you say buddy, are you ready to rebuild?” Together, the four of us left the end through the portal and reappeared in a birch forest.

Your magic has settled, and it will take its time. It needs time until it sort of makes its place inside of you, until the Ichor infiltrates all of your blood cells. It just needs time to get to know you,” she explained, and that did not sit well with me at all. She spoke of magic like it was a conscious being, when it wasn’t. I’d felt it. Just last night, I’d felt it in every single inch of my body. It wasn’t conscious by any means, but it was hungry. That’s the impression it gave me—hungry to consume more and more and more. Just like Shade talked about his Void.

It wasn’t rational and it sure as fuck wasn’t fair to her, but somehow, this woman had become my salvation. She had filled this empty void inside of me with her passion and energy, and I would be damned if I let her go now.

I continued to walk with the basket in my hands without seeing shit. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop—if I did, Shade would see my tears. He always managed to bring light into the dark of the Void, just enough to see, and I didn’t want him to know. Goddamn Elysean prick—he wouldn’t know what it felt like inside me right now, but the Void did. And it offered me the same comfort as always.

The hardest questions to face but the easiest to answer was why I didn't already feel valuable. When the one person who was supposed to love me unconditionally told me over and over that I was a worthless, ungrateful punk, it became hard to ever truly believe that I was good enough...And now I was trying to fill the void this left inside me with knowledge, and therefore value. Over the years I'd told myself that if I could talk to enough people and make the ideal impression enough times, they would like me. My credentials and skills, and ultimately my knowledge, would make me worth liking. And if enough people liked me, I would matter. I'd be worth something.

Remember that I was scared of anything with more than four legs but fearless of adventure. Remember. Carry me inside you as a light that brightens your world and makes everything better. I don’t want to be a void, a hole, a shadow. REMEMBER ME!

I HAVEN’T HAD the Dream in a long time. But it’s back. And it’s changed. It does not begin as it always has, with the chase. The woods. The mad swooping of the griffins and the charge of the hose-beaked vromaski. The volcano about to erupt. The woman calling my name. The rift that opens in the ground before me. The fall into the void. The fall, where it always ends. Not this time. This time, these things are behind me. This time, it begins at the bottom. I am outside my own body. I am in a nanosecond frozen in time. I feel no pain. I feel nothing. I see someone below, twisted and motionless. The person is Jack. Jack of the Dream. But being outside it, I see that the body is not mine. Not the same face. As if, in these Dreams, I have been dwelling inside a stranger. I see small woodland creatures, fallen and motionless, strewn around the body. The earth shakes. High above, griffins cackle. Water trickles beneath the body now. It pools around the head and hips. And the nanosecond ends. The scene changes. I am no longer outside the body but in. Deep in. The shock of reentry is white-hot. It paralyzes every molecule, short-circuiting my senses. Sight, touch, hearing—all of them join in one huge barbaric scream of STOP. The water fills my ear, trickles down my neck and chest. It freezes and pricks. It soothes and heals. It is taking hold of the pain, drawing it away. Drawing out death and bringing life. I breathe. My flattened body inflates. I see. Smell. Hear. I am aware of the soil ground into my skin, the carcasses all around, the black clouds lowering overhead. The thunder and shaking of the earth. I blink the grit from my eyes and struggle to rise. I have fallen into a crevice. The cracked earth is a vertical wall before me. And the wall contains a hole, a kind of door into the earth. I see dim light within. I stand on shaking legs. I feel the snap of shattered bones knitting themselves together. One step. Two. With each it becomes easier. Entering the hole, I hear music. The Song of the Heptakiklos. The sound that seems to play my soul like a guitar. I draw near the light. It is inside a vast, round room, an underground chamber. I enter, lifted on a column of air. At the other side I see someone hunched over. The white lambda in his hair flashes in the reflected torch fire. I call to him and he turns. He looks like me. Beside him is an enormous satchel, full to bursting. Behind him is the Heptakiklos. Seven round indentations in the earth. All empty.

She dances, She dances around the burning flames with passion, Under the same dull stars, Under the same hell with crimson embers crashing, Under the same silver chains that wires, All her beauty and who she is inside, She's left with the loneliness of human existence, She's left questioning how she's survived, She's left with this awakening of brutal resilience, Her true beauty that she denies, As much she's like to deny it, As much as it continues to shine, That she doesn't even have to admit, Because we all know it's true, Her glory and success, After all she's been through, Her triumph and madness, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Broken legs- but she's still standing, Still dancing in this void, You must wonder how she's still dancing, You must wonder how she's not destroyed, She doesn't even begin to drown within the flames, But little do you realize, Within these chains, She weeps and she cries, But she still goes on, And just you thought you could stop her? You thought you'd be the one? Well, let me tell you, because you thought wrong. Nothing will ever silence her, Because I KNOW, I know that she is admiringly strong, Her undeniable beauty, The triumph of her song, She's shining bright like a ruby, Reflecting in the golden sand, She's shining brighter like no other, She's far more than human or man, AND YET, SHE STANDS. She continues to dance with free-spirit, Even though she's locked in these chains, Though she never desired to change it, Even throughout the agonizing pain, Throughout all the distress, Anxiety, depression, tears and sorrow, She still dances so beautify in her dress, She looks forward to tomorrow, Not because of a fresh start but a new page, A new day full of opportunities, Despite being trapped in her cage, She still smiles after being beaten so brutally, A smile that could brighten anyone's day, She's so much more than anyone could ask for, She's so much more than I could ever say, She's a girl absolutely everyone should adore, She never gets in the way, Even after her hearts been broken, Even after the way she has been treated, After all these severe emotions, After all all the blood she's bled, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Even if sometimes she wonders why she's still here, She wonders why she's not dead, But there's this one thing that had been here throughout every tear, Throughout the blazing fire leaving her cheeks cherry red, Everyday this thing has given her a place to exist, This thing, person, these people, Like warm sunlight it had so softly kissed, The apples of her cheeks, Even when she's feeling feeble, Always there at her worst and at her best Because of you and all the other people, She has this thing deep inside her chest, That she will cherish forever, Even once you're gone, Because today she smiles like no other, Even when the sun sets at dawn, Because today is the day, She just wants you to remember, In dark and stormy weather, It gets better. And after what she's been through she knows, Throughout the highs and the lows, Because of you and all others, After crossing the seas, She has come to understand, You have formed this key, This key to free her from this land, This endless gorge that swallowed her, Her and other men, She had never knew, nor had she planned, That because of you, AND YET, THIS VERY DAY, SHE DANCES. EVEN IN THE RAIN.

Life beckoned to me in the form of a blinding white light, coaxing me to come near it and grasp it. To live again. To exist again among the living. But I didn't want to. Not anymore. Death was a better choice. But Death did not want me. Yet. There was only one thing to do, then. I must escape Life. I turned away from the light, but it followed me. I ran, as fast as I can, but it was still behind me. I couldn’t lose it, however hard I tried. It was gaining on me! Out of breath, I turned into a dark alley and found myself in a barren stretch of land. I dropped to the ground as the light came into sight. And I knew that to avoid it, there was nothing else to do…but go underground. With my bare hands, I scratched and scraped and clawed on the ground, and my fingernails cracked, and my hands became bloodied. But I didn't stop. I must not stop. I must not let the light get me. So, I scratched and clawed and scraped the soil. Tears and perspiration mingled on my face, dripping down to the hole I was digging. “Still, I went on, and on, and on, focused on my task. Finally, a hole big enough appeared out of my efforts. Coughing, short of breath, I crawled inside, worming my way in. I curled up my body. I pulled my knees to my chest, folded my arms around them, and wriggled myself in, until I was deeply and comfortably nestled in. No vacant spaces, no empty void. Just me and the hole. I was a perfect fit for the dark pit I created for myself. Gradually, my breathing returned to normal, my heart softly beating. Gratefully, I closed my eyes, allowing the darkness to engulf me wholly, shielding me from the light called Life.

It is only in the void that another reality can appear. At the same time, there is also in me an energy that is projected outward by my functions, taken by their inexhaustible reactions to impressions coming from both outside and inside. I do not have the attention necessary to confront all these impressions and reactions. But I am shocked when I see the speed with which I unknowingly react.

Don’t just try to be happy when you think of me—be happy. Look at the ocean and smile. Inhale the scent and celebrate. Remember me. Remember that I was never sad for more than a day, rarely for more than an hour. Remember the amazing times we had and what a goofball I was. Remember that I was scared of anything with more than four legs but fearless of adventure. Remember. Carry me inside you as a light that brightens your world and makes everything better. I don’t want to be a void, a hole, a shadow. REMEMBER ME! “Do you know what I think about?” Chloe

I walked into my sis’s room… and saw nothing but her ass and spread open p*ssy she is on her knees, on her little bed, with bubbly little mermaid bedding, look at that her butt is shown pointing towards the door, got yah- I see lots of her… and so will my friends… if I send this to them. Payback sister- the wetness running out of her, let's put it that way. I think you know what that crap is. I have to prove I am not a complete p*ssy, and will not put up with my little sister getting more than me, like taking my men. Seeing this Maddie and Liv say- her but was like in our faces, I knew it would be set to more girls, yet I did not have the heart to. That was up to my friends to see if they were real friends. You can see and hear sighing in her Arial-themed room to every inward and outward stroke. I even see her rubbing it in rotating patterns, with her fingers also, into it. Uh-ah, uh-huh- Oh-Oo-a, ow- yeah, she feels everything deep I will say that for her. Man, she can bend it in, she has known I have this all on my cell, and I am looking in at her, the door not closed. Look at her next to her stuffed dog, she is rubbing it also on her vagina Maddie said I can send this to her seven, and so did Olivia. If Jenny was here, what do you think she would have done with this video? (Hall discussions at lockers number 94 and 96.) I would if she sent this to anyone else, if so, that is not nice. Locker 95 is now sitting as it was, but with like a drop-off of flowers and bars, and photos stuck on the door for her memory. Girls kissing the door, and boys, it is nuts, you don’t want to see what's inside there, it's freaky. Olivia- I wonder if we could get our lockers changed. It was nice then when we all wanted to be together, now not so much, this turns me so off. Did you see that Maggie is getting a life now that she is gone? Olivia- Yes, yes, I did, I wonder if Jenny was the one doing that too. Maddie- she liked her so I say know. Liv- may be…? Maddie- Do you miss her? Liv- Not always- yet she pops into my mind once in a while. Karly about the video (not with the girls, alone.) I showed her one, and now she seems to have it- good for her. I think she does it better than me, b*tch- is what the girls well think too I just know it, I love her, look you can see her face in the pillow, cute right, arched back, putting her two fingers in and out, and I forget how old she, yet see this crap, she looks like a professional, my girls will get it.