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Maybe it’s a blessing that this is probably the busiest time of my life.

It helps me forget.
Probably deny.
Pretend that it’s not there.
That it’s not happening.

Every second I think about essays that are due, Malcolm X, Shakespeare, making enough commission, the Torah, selling enough clearshield lenses, women in Islamic society, contact lens year supplies, Pauline Christianity, bear-baiting, Professor Rashkover, clocking in enough hours, waking up on time, making sure I have enough money in my account, selling my camera... is a second that keeps me from feeling that hole which keeps growing in blackness within me – it’s center within my heart.

I’ve been so great at deceiving myself that I never realized that the gaping hole that I swear just appeared out of nowhere recently actually started as a tiny, little pinhole within the delicate depths of my heart a while ago.

Or maybe I was too foolish to realize that there was a correlation between that ever-growing painful wound and the way I’ve fought with the way things are going. How did I not realize that the bitter, agonizing tears lining my bloodshot eyes were the result of that very painful growing hole within me?

I know why.
I’ve been in denial.
I’ve known all along.
I’ve been in denial.

I’ve been denying the fact that I’ve been losing a piece of me.

A very important piece which I’ve come to be entirely dependent upon.

A piece of me which I’ve so selfishly used as my will go on.

A piece of me which I’ve used
As an outlet,
As a rock,
As my peace and turbulence,
As my muse,
As my drive,
As my spine.

A very important piece of me which I used as my primary mode to happiness.

That piece of me is so very slowly shrinking as that hole is growing. They go hand in hand. As that piece of me is being vacuumed out, it lets the hole grow and grow.

And that black hole is filled with a residue of what once was.

Created: Oct 28, 2010


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