Nil

Not having anything to say is frustrating. I sit empty, with restless fingers tapping on the keyboards. And to fill this void, I eat chocolate. And more potato chips. And everything else I can find in the house. It is strange that I have nothing to say but inside I feel a terrible weight. I'm going deaf with the sound of silence. Punch through, break a glass, shatter a heart. Fill my ears with your wailings and moans.
I don't understand how I feel about him. I almost see myself in him, yet he is so much more than I'm. I'm not dying of an old passion, never really had one for him; only may be a passing one or a momentary self-induced longing, which now mean little to me. But I miss the comfort of our conversations — the total abandon of guardedness, of being comfortable in each other's silence , him understanding my mad ramblings — I miss the assurance that once I'm through with my shitty job, he would be there to listen to all that I have to say. I could communicate. I had a secret hole to whisper to all my crazy thoughts. At the same time, I knew at the back of my mind that this would end someday but could never picture it. I could never imagine a tomorrow without us talking about everything under the sun. He is my alter ego and he's gone.