An Empty House

I have such a wonderful support system, but at times, I can't help but feel like my insides have been gutted out like a pumpkin and that I am nothing more than an empty house. I am frequently happy, but sometimes, when I am alone, I cannot help but feel a great crashing distance come over me. It's as though I lie within the ground, I know there are people above me, but by distance, I simply cannot reach. I am that hollow house. That house, whose foundation is built upon emptiness, whose cracks have been filled with love over the years. And try as you might to fix failing foundation, it's about the ground underneath.

This self that I am right now will seem a strange and twisted visage when the morning light of the presence of others breaks the dawn. But for now, I am here. I must write to make my presence known.