Empty

I wanted to cry. I really did. My grandparents telling me their last goodbyes, my mother cooking her last home-cooked meal for her son, my brother giving me his final lopsided haircut, his girlfriend's puffy lips and last ride to the airport, my cousin trying to hook me up with contacts but ended up giving me the wrong prescription, my uncle's gift and hug, my aunt's picture frames, my father's strange decision not to leave early for the airport, my sister's final call. On top of all that, of course there was you and how empty and hurt I felt, and how bad that ended up making you feel about yourself.

It's a new slate now... just like my room with its sole sleeping bag and two cardboard boxes serving as a desk and end table. It is empty like the lack of a photograph for my writing; empty like the pizza boxes a good small-town family bought for their son and his new roommate; empty like the bottles and glasses we shared at Fergie's Pub.

Things that rise can fall. Things that run can stop. Things that are empty can be filled. Whether it takes a day, a week, a month, or even four years... I'll raise this empty blog, room, heart, mind, and glass to a whole and full future.

philessthanthree.