Is the void something? Is my metaphoric heart a void, and if it is, does it provide a space for a thing or nothing? Should I treasure it still? Should I focus upon it or forsake such thoughts? What of those who seek to fill it, assuming it empty? What of those who believe themselves to inhabit it? Will they become lost?
I'm submerged in odd questions this evening as I contemplate the ontological aspects of everything in and about me. Deep nights are restless nights. Questions never cease.
Tomorrow will bring a new kind of beast to the door and I'll have to discern its nature and avoid its predations if it reveals itself to be my doom. Will it devour me and my nothing, or will I fill it beyond capacity with my mysterious, incomprehensible vastness? Can I bring myself to rally the strength to defend a potential emptiness, or should I foolishly surrender my invisible, considerable internal universe?
Questions never cease.