Holes

There are inevitable things in this world.

Sunlight. Day. Night. Rain. Air. Water.

Things that exist, and persist. Things that keep going, and that keep the world going. There are things that spin onward, regardless of our hand in them.

There are questions.

And there are answers.

But, occasionally…

There are questions without answers.

And that’s a big difference.

There’s a hole.

It sits squat. Open. Like someone whose chest was opened, and the doctor left the table. Left them exposed, bleeding. Wounded in front of the whole staff. In the wake of the whole world.

There’s a hole here.

What was I doing when it got here?

Good question.

I have no idea.

Clearly, it wasn’t that important. The moment I heard about the hole, I dropped everything. I ran to this bleeding place. To this open ground. To this hungry mouth, waiting to swallow.

I ran here with all my might. With everything I had.

But that didn’t change anything.

There’s still a hole.

And it’s still staring at me.

And I’m staring at it.

And it’s there, eating its way through the ground. Eating through the dirt. Through the fabric of the earth. Through the very thing that grounds me.

What if I were to fill it?

Would it be whole again?

I wonder, but I don’t pick up a shovel.

Because there’s still a hole.

And it runs deep.

So, so deep.

There isn’t enough dirt. Not nearly enough. Not enough dirt on the whole planet. Not enough to fill this hole.

It’ll never be enough.

Nothing could ever fill this whole.

You might think I’m being dramatic.

But you’re wrong.

Dead wrong.

So wrong I’d fight you. Kill you. I’d make another hole in the ground. Let the earth get eaten away beneath your feet. Let you be swallowed by the darkness. By the hungry mouth of burrowing holes. Let you be taken away to that place, far beneath the ground.

Just like him.

Yeah, there’s a hole in the world.

I don’t know why it came here. Why it decided to strike when it did. Don’t know how, and I probably won’t ever know.

All I know is:

There’s a hole in the earth.

Right where he used to stand.

And I can’t seem to find it in me to fill it.

Not with dirt, or with answers. Not with sadness or anger. Not with pills or therapy. Nothing. Nothing will ever fill this hole. Nothing ever could.

I won’t even bother trying.

How could anyone ever expect to replace you?

I look at the hole. At the way it continues down, and down, and down. At the darkness it holds. At all the things it is, and all the things it isn’t.

I look at the hole, and I can feel the water form.

If there’s one thing that might fill it, it’s definitely tears.

Though, in all honesty, I know;

It still won’t be enough.

Not to fill this hole.

This space was meant for you.

 

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