Sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night on my side of the bed I turn around to find the other side empty. I come out of my room into the hallway and find it empty. If i were to walk out to my front porch, it would still be empty If, out on the road, still empty I sit in the farthest corner of an empty bus, travelling through empty highways to a deserted library. They say that air rushes to occupy empty space Except everything now feels like vaccum My porch, the highways and my heart.
the rantings of solitude