The whole

Sometimes it seems, my soul is dull. Laughter, joy, people, possession, nothing can make it full.

Just like an empty space, in a universe. I often feel. Still small trace of hope appears while I'm writing this verse.

It feels like a part of something is missing from me. Like that last piece of puzzle you need to complete the whole. And that little something feels like, an infinite hole.

To be alive is a blessing, each day, breath, laughter, cry and life. It is so beautiful I cry much. Yet that hole, a missing piece like a knife, piercing through the heart of mine, as such.

I asked myself then and still now. To fill that hole, I do not know how.

So I tried on pipe getting high until I could not bear it. So I screamed and cried, through the hardships myself I have carried.

Tried to fill the hole with possession. That too did not answer my question. And by a mistake, I stumbled upon an isolation.

There in quiet, the world has softened, It's loud and fast talk. I could hear my soul speak again, my view broadened. All I had to do is with myself, to take a walk.

To be alone can be painful, it scares you first, then it hurts. Forgive yourself and listen then carefully, for your soul speaks in quiet hertz. Next, take a pen, then write, write again and again. For you are the author of your story.

So I did, and I found out. That hole, you have to accept it as it is. It might feel empty, part of you still is. In life, your story is never finished, that missing piece is what makes you whole.