I’m full of this immense, unfeeling hunger. It makes no delineation between full and empty between need and reality. It fills me full to bursting and still rings empty as sin with the loneliest effort the world has ever seen. There is always a space between me and the universe. But despite it all I also feel this deep, artlessly intimate interweaving of self and other a twinning of knowledge like nothing else. I believe there is an immense space for love—for loss— in all of us and even as I echo with missed chances and drowned purpose and sometimes the lack of either I have hope even if I don’t always understand why.