The void is my friend.
She has come to my door after ages.
I fed her. Persimmons, cheese, rice made fragrant with lime leaves. I clothed her. In blue and silver. Silk and diamond. I poured her water from a mountain spring. I read to her the scribbles I have etched on my soul every night.
The void is my friend.
She devoured my offerings like the night sky suddenly made blank and still, like the sucked-in breath before the plunge.
She devoured, and devoured, and devoured, and then gave me You.
The void is not my friend.
The void is you.
Cover image is Self Portrait by Monica Rohan.
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