The Hollowing

It wasn’t so unusual what she wished for, just a safe space to keep what’s sacred. Not that she intended on squandering herself, like those frivolously releasing coins into open wells or popping entire chocolates into their mouth at once—not every hole needs filling.

Still, she daydreamed of squirrels’ nests, fantasized foxes’ dens, rabbits’ warrens. Tunnels, she thought, burrowing deeper into her belly. She sought an uncommon emptiness, not the kind widely expressed as a vacuous mind, but rooms within rooms inside herself, where she might find respite from the exasperating busyness of life. Somewhere dim and warm to curl up after the day’s obligations that would finally—easily—have space for all of her.