When I walk the streets I try to keep a straight face to hide the secrets.
There was a man.
There was a man, and he was Empty.
And so of course he tried to fill himself with stuff.
Silly little stuffs like everyday objects and things, and people, and good works, and feelings, emotions, places, memories, thoughts, opinions,
but it never seemed to work. They all just drifted into hollowness.
Drifted in there.
And so he stayed this way for quite a while, swallowing, swallowing, swallowing, covering up so no one would see. No one knew of course, which was good, if they did, it didn’t matter.
One day, when the noise of emptiness grew too loud in his mind and engulfed even the very things he had tried to fill it with, he creeped inside himself.
It was like he had never even existed.