Re: The Widow/The Nothing
"Lack of movement is boring. In the grand scheme of things, this is a stop. I don't want to stop. I want to move and to go and to continue," they explained, and they knew this to be true. They didn't want to be still and thinking, wheels spinning and nothing coming of it. But they noted the slip of her personality peeking out from behind veil and veneer. "I think if we sat forever I would find something to do, but that doesn't mean it's the right something or the best something. It just means it's the only something." They thought that made sense, or at least it made sense to them.
They glanced at the wine with rheumy eyes of insignificant hazel. They didn't want to drink. They thought drinking would just accentuate the nothing, make it bigger and like some monster waiting to burst from a childhood closet and finally managing to turn the knob. "I don't think I drink." Of course there was a lack of certainty, because could a nothing truly be sure of anything without doubt? "I don't like not feeling. I don't like not knowing and not being." Maybe that was something? It was, at the very least, not nothing. "I lost someone too, but I don't feel it, and it hurts not to feel it. Isn't that funny? That I can hurt because I don't hurt, but I can't hurt over what I really want to hurt about?"