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Credits

Movies…Films….Books…Music…art…entertainment…work…family…sleep…the weapons we wield to fight off the terrifying realization that something is empty. And it must be filled. When we turn a chapter, change a reel, or select the next track, we are comforted by knowing that the Nothingness is not coming over the horizon. I myself cannot stand long outros in songs and I believe it is because I fear that Nothing. We don’t watch the credits roll unless there is a secret scene at the end. The repeat function exists. There are almost no words to describe the satisfied sense of hunger that comes with closing the back cover of a novel, left to our thoughts, with nothing left to consume, only to reflect. And that reflection horrifies us, yet some…the strong… cannot look away. Or perhaps we are weak. Rolling in the dregs of nostalgia, reflection is itself the attempt to absorb what have seen, read, heard, etc. We hope to make our weapons stronger, not to trade them for another that seems so. Our weapons are only as strong as we are. yet the hunger stays. Never satisfied. We war with this hunger, we satiate this hunger, we feed it, then war with it again. As the credits to this drama roll, I am still. Frozen with the realization that I am adrift, and even after I can move, even as I type this, I can’t pinpoint that feeling, that moment when I did not seek to satiate my hunger. I was full. And now I am not….even the credits will at some length end. And I am left with that terrifying reflection again.

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