On Emptiness

Yesterday, I felt like a jar.

All of a sudden, for a few moments, I felt utterly empty. Gutted out clean. Not a morsel of my being left, even if only to serve as a testament to what used to be. It was as if every disappointment and every loss I had ever felt was imposing the weight of what could have and should have been onto me. A vacuum, declaring its presence not by its substance but by the absence it creates.

I am suspended on a string in space. I have nothing. I am nothing. I am nowhere. It were as if the apex of an existential crisis exploded in my lungs and settled in particles and pieces to rise again unexpectedly, like surprise confetti.

For a few painful minutes, I felt like a jar. A glass jar. See through, empty, full of potential but no fruition. For a few painful minutes, what lay dormant in my lungs rose with a vengeance to remind me of its existence and then settled… like dust at the bottom of a jar.

© Leila Chammas, November 30, 2016
Photo taken 11/30/16