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The Hungry Void of Me

by Lilly Ashley about a year ago in humanity
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A void lives within me eating my dreams.

Your eyes I find paradise in.

The day is cold. The sun is gleaming and the air is mellow around me, yet this day falls so cold. Perhaps it is me that is cold. I watch the dusty air caper around in the stream of sunlight that spills through the blinds. I find that I am aimlessly disconnected from everything. Lost stumbling somewhere far within myself. I am gasping for sweet air as I drift through the void of my mind that eats my dreams and lingers around my body like some putrid parasite. I am merely a shell of who I could be, a vessel for the indistinct emptiness that consumes my body. Emptiness becomes me. My eyes borrowed by my thoughts, like a prisoner they succumb to such blind power. My poor simple bones fall victim to the complex knot of thoughts that consumes me so. My limited perception of this life creates the perfect hellscape of such a blatant existence.

I thought I knew myself until I simply did not. What I didn't know is how I had been so blind to a world that wasn't mine. A world that takes me away from myself out of the frivolous attempt to create a sense of comfort and order. I do not wish for these, I find comfort to be a pathway to a shrill life. This world feeds on a need for control. It sucks my soul through the stale lips of death. Death being the most derived of all fears of which this world turns upon. This world values simplicity in the most complex of ways. Seeing is believing I've always understood, but what if it's believing that is seeing? Who I am is something no one could ever see. I can not show you who I am because this is something undefinable, and this world fears such a thing.

The world twists and turns to escape fear, but has found itself creating the perfect world for such an idea to exist. There is nothing we can truly understand and that scares the life out of us. People of this world work so hard to try to understand and define everything, but it isn't possible. The ruthless need for definition confines us all. Acceptance sets us free, but for too many that would mean accepting the fact that we are simply existing and that is all we could ever understand. Nothing more, nothing less. We become simple in the ways that what we can see is valued over what we cannot. The world becomes a place of mistrusted comfort that humanity will forever sink into until it can no longer reach for light.

I find myself thinking it is for the best that we cannot define the things we cannot physically see. Perhaps if we could they too would be doomed to the corruption of the agonizing need for definition. The need for humanity to define, control, and question everything leads us into a downward spiral of our own selves lost.

Thoughts are becoming of us. It's indefinable and that is a beautiful wonder that is meant to be left alone. Our unique selves that are kept safe behind our masks of human beings are each so beautifully obscure. Our differences are meant to be accepted, learned, and shared. This world has told me what I am to confine me. My true self suppressed behind this maze of ideals pushed into my mind. None of it determines me, and so this day is cold. I've let go of all of what I was and am truly finding who. Finally, I am being freed.

This had all sparked within me with the arrival of a knock upon my door. Up until that point I had been living a lie of an existence within myself. I didn't know it yet, but this day would mark the start of the rest of my truest life. I am now in the midst of such a powerful transition of my own mind. With that delicate knock of my door, my presence was met by a woman that would otherwise be nonexistent to me. She came to me with a gift of a frail yellow box that I didn't dare question, so I simply accepted. Inside this box would rest a curious little black book. Inside this book came to be important words written by fading minds and passed lives. Each day since I have spent sitting in this fading house.

The writings within this book have been festering within me and eating away at my grasp on reality for the best. Unleashing this wildfire that would burn the strings that bind my mind. From these ashes grow sprouts of new life that is good. I see now that I had been so foolishly and blissfully drifting through a life that did not fulfill me. Anything I find happiness in outside of myself would be short-lived. My mind's short-term happiness becomes a large price to pay for my soul's eternal fulfillment. I am meant to grow. To leave my stagnation and not be afraid to make choices to change. It is the only way I will ever truly find fulfillment. I've spent my whole life seeking to build myself up by values out of my control. I had been too reliant on superficial things that were always slipping away from me. I feared validation because what I truly feared is the fact that everything within my life is completely and utterly up to me. I do not need to make myself smaller to fit into someone else's poorly sculpted perception of me. The only thing I need to understand within life is myself. To be no one means I am most myself, indefinable and unconfined by the outside corrupted ideas of this lost and confused world.

I sit here each day reading the words of this little black book. A journal shared between two women, Winni and Harriet, who each despised the idea of love. Against their own odds, they had managed to fall foolishly and beautifully in love. They had shared their lives to a point that they had forgotten bits of themselves, but they loved being lost within one another.

Today I find myself stuck on the final page.

‘The day I had met you, you took my hand and my heart began to dance. Silly of me to trip over myself so soon, but I could feel your heart dancing too. I didn’t know it then but we would share the best moments of our lives in each other's presence. Each of us both wildly independent people, still somehow managed to fall mindlessly in love. I lost myself within you, and it was the best place to be lost in. Your eyes I find paradise in. The truest of greens became the sea that flows from your beautiful soul. My soul falls into yours through the gaze between our minds. You as my muse-my breath.

To reach a peak somehow diminished meaning from the journey. I must ask myself not when will I get there, but how far will I go? When I see you I have no peak to reach, but I feel as though I never want the journey to end

My breath is growing weak. I face death, and I do not fear him. What is fear, is fear itself. Looking back to my life and fearing that I didn’t become all of who I wanted to be, and it was all in my hands. I let it slip between my fingers. I lost myself, I spent my days living a life that was enough. I know it could've been more. I am truly happy, but I ask myself if I was enough. I cannot explain the twisting piles of thoughts that consume me. Rotting behind the fear of the unknown my heart drowns. I am a stagnated ghost within my own skin. I find it so hard to cry because my sorrow has stolen my breath. Two beings live within me, each lost within the walls of my mind. Perhaps with my passing, I will be relieved to find true freedom from the beautiful burden of life. I wish so deeply that I hadn't feared so much. That I had not let my mind hold me back. I wish I would have expressed to you how deeply I love you. I am afraid you could never know my mind as beautifully as your own.

Our gardens have grown together. our roots intertwined. I have lost the best part of myself, for it is within you. Perhaps my soul will find itself entangled within the stars, and you will see me gleaming in the vast void.’

I am pausing at this moment to breathe it in. The final page is a goodbye. The inevitable end. I peel back this final page to reveal a key taped to the inner back cover. I free the key from the sticky tarnish of the aged tape. My brain clicks and I head into the quiet kitchen to a locked drawer. I pierce the keyway with this sticky silver key and hear the release. Inside this drawer rests a thick envelope with ‘20,000’ written on the yellowed paper. Inside more cash than I have ever seen with my own eyes. At the bottom of this drawer rests a note that writes ‘for your dreams’.


About the author

Lilly Ashley

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