I can’t sleep and this night forced me to witness every passing second painstakingly. But somewhere in this torture, I found three thoughts:
1. That contrary to the absoluteness of completeness, there are varying levels of incompleteness. That some of the piece could be in other people, but they may no longer possess it. Either it was stolen by time, or handed out to someone else not you.
2. That when such thing is lost, it won’t disappear. Instead, its absence will grow robust, and will develop an incessant kind of nagging vacuity that demands its place in some of life’s precise moments. But its existence is distinct, thus replication is impossible.
3. That the desire for something that doesn’t, or no longer exist, is a tangible kind of desire. That knowing someone else, not you, had it would burn you alive. That it feels like arriving in a place and finding the distinctness of the fire extinguished, impossible to revive and shadows begin to engulf you.That it is not nostalgia but everlasting emptiness.