Dear Mr. Emptiness,

As I pick up my pen to write this letter,

I do not know where it will drift,

or whether it will ever reach you.

Perhaps it will dissolve into the vast silence,

or vanish between the folds of time.

Perhaps you are not meant to read it—

or perhaps, you have already written it yourself.

Are you still searching?

Or have you become the void you once longed to escape?

Does emptiness still call your name,

or have you learned to rest within it?

Time has no answers, only echoes.

And somewhere beyond this moment,

beyond past and future,

I know you are waiting.

Looking forward to meeting you again