"Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones
an emptiness began to grow.
There's something out there far from my home,
a longing that I've never known."
-"Jack's Lament", Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
To be honest, there's always been this feeling that part of me was missing, as if I'd dropped it somewhere and forgotten to catch it. At first, I thought I found it when I began writing in 5th grade, eagerly pumping out poetry and prose in hopes of achieving literary stardom, but I learned quite quickly that that wasn't quite it. Nevertheless, I continued writing--partially because I've been told I'm good and I still dream of stardom, and partially because I simply love writing, feeling that onrush of emotion and watching it flow onto the paper.... But I can feel that missing part, this hole that doesn't quite ache, doesn't quite throb, but it's there, and like any hole I want to fill it.
But with what?
Until I do figure out this strange puzzle, I shall keep writing, keep reading, keep dreaming.
