Blankness & Color

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Have you ever been so empty that you feel heavy?

So heavy that you crawl deeper inside the loneliness to distract yourself from the blank void in your heart?

So familiar with the weight of self-isolation that you become friends with your secret demons who shackled your soul?

I have.

My demons soon become my only voice and all I saw when I dug for my own reflection.

They noticed me…

I didn’t need to look in a mirror.

They were me. More myself than I was.

A canvas with only white space.

They were colorless. Meaningless. Numbing.

But I did not fear them…because I knew they were not going anywhere.

I would never be betrayed or abandoned again.

But my commitment to them soon made me fearful of weightlessness.

Afraid of adding the first stroke of color to a blank canvas.

Afraid of needing meaning and meaning not needing me.

When will I realize that I need the colorful brushstrokes to live?

Maybe when I find time in between reviving my demons and pretending not to notice the paintbrush in my hand.