No clouds drifting overhead, just as there’s no sense of fullness in my heart this season. There are so many things I long to do, dreams I can almost name but not yet touch, plans that hover just out of reach. The holidays arrive, but they carry no flavor, no warmth. They settle on my tongue like soup without salt. Present, but hollow.
There are no stars shimmering above, much like the absence of friends beside me. I find myself wondering if I was meant to exist at a distance, always caring from afar. Have I drifted too far from everyone, busying myself with the next thing, or have they simply moved beyond my reach? I sit with the question, quietly hoping that this isolation is temporary that one day soon, the space between us will close.
No moon hangs in the night sky, mirroring how my life feels stripped of direction once again. There is a hollow in me, vast and aching, shaped like the moon itself an emptiness searching for meaning, for something to make it whole. Loneliness wraps around me tightly, and even the simplest touch meets only dust, as if everything I brush against has already faded.
