It comes I don’t know where from, this bug of emptiness. It can be days without showing its teeth, but sooner or later it materialises itself right inside my stomach. It has a weird power of suction; it’s like my inner walls are somehow pressed against thin air. I call it the bug of emptiness because it feels gross, mischievous, and annoying. It makes me want to eat non-stop like if that could push it down and away from my body. It doesn’t, it only makes it grow wider and sometimes even stronger.
I don’t know exactly why it decides to show up uninvited. It strikes me out of guard most frequently. There was I, grasping life with one hand and thinking that I had finally managed to put things right once again, and then there was I again, losing the sight and brightness of a colourful life. The bug came in and made itself a guest for I don’t know how long. This bug is oblivious to its own inconvenience.
As a matter of fact, maybe I know where it comes from. Maybe I felt it coming, and maybe I could had done something about it. I didn’t though, so it came and it stayed over in hopes of getting a taste of its favourite excuse. I’m responsible for being reckless and I may even call for it at night. I should know better and yet I keep repeating my very old mistakes. At some point, the bug wants to chat and I pretend I’m not listening. Actually, I pretend I’m deaf. Its stubbornness is, nonetheless, unbelievable, and the only way I can win it over for a little while is through tiredness.
Tonight the bug is enjoying a cozy night inside the great walls. I heard already its voice, challenging me to chat. So I’m pushing a chair to let it speak.
You miss.,the bug murmured.
What do I miss?,I asked.
You miss the undivided attention. You miss him.,the bug answered, now a bit louder.
Afterwards, the bug and I remained in silence, for a long time, and I felt warm tears rolling down my face. There was a willing to fight them back and to deny the bug’s words, because those words were the truth I didn’t want to accept. I thought that accepting them meant having to hate myself for not being rational enough. The thing is that love is not rational, it just is… and the bug of emptiness comes in to tell us, every now and then, that we are missing in Love so that we can ease up our heart and let it be true to itself. Away from our will of being rational. Away from our silly idea of ruling life without giving our heart the right to be.