And On, and On, and On

There is an emptiness where an ache once dwelt.

Before the ache, it was joy.

I had hoped that the joy would linger, perhaps even root and grow into something steady and sure, but it faltered and failed and became a sort of shame and sorrow that became the ache that is now an emptiness.

I had hoped that perhaps there could be a healing, a restoration, even as the ache grew and grew, before it became the emptiness where the ache once dwelt.

Now it is just a sort of an echo-y place which reverberates with a dull and throbbing pain when poked too hard while being searched for the remnants of what was joy before it became sorrow and shame that morphed into the ache that segued into the emptiness.

I wish I could fill the emptiness with some good thing, some brightness, but I think it it more likely that I will have a scarred-over callous where the emptiness took the place of the ache that was once joy.

Life goes on.