Yearning

There is emptiness inside my chest. A smouldering yearning for something lost, for something elusive, ineffable: the hiraeth for something which maybe never was... And I wear this empty carcase every day, forcing me down— heavy with nothingness: But, oh! How I wish I could know what is it, that I can barely live without? Is it the essence of my being, lost with the love I lost? Is it a dream I dreamt, and dissipated with the sunrise? Tell me, meek little soul of mine: What is it you are yearning for? What is it you sought silently, melancholically, and painfully secluded? Is it of this world, or of another world? I hope, one day, it will unveil itself to us.