The emptiness I grew to know well, is an old friend of mine.
We go way back.
Thirty years or something, I am unsure of just how precisely.
Together we meshed, together we created hollow hearts.
Imagine digging a hole for twenty seven plus years
& then imagine the mass amount of dirt you would have to find to ever fill that hole again.
The dirt is my words.
My mouth the shovel.
I hope I do not run out of time.
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