I think days were spent.


    Just feeling.


    Feeling more and more.


    Consuming.


    But even though that feeling was growing,


    that feeling of fullness,


    batteling that feeling of blackness,


    it didnt feel quite right.


    Nobody can live, simply consuming.


    One must produce.


    But how?


    I didnt know.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I knew that the feeling that i got from those feeling that moved an squirmed was energy.


    Energy i could use to produce.


    So i produced.


    Its a strange feeling.


    To grow, and to produce yourself.


    Like streching out a hand.


    Longing to grasp something.


    But i grasped nothing.


    I felt empty.


    But i also felt larger.


    I felt more small feelings.


    They were smaller now.


    Or perheaps i was bigger?


    Most likely the latter.


    I grasped them all.


    They all dissappeared.


    How long has it been?


    I dont want to think about it.


    I felt fuller.


    Like a chalice overflowing with nectar.


    I releasted it again.


    That empty feeling returned.


    It was uncomfortable.


    The feelings were small.


    Too small.


    I didnt even bother grasping them anymore.


    There was a large feeling.


    It moved a lot.


    When i felt it,


    and it felt me,


    i grasped it.


    It grasped me as well.


    It wasnt a hand.


    It was more like a jaw, a maw, trying to grasp me in its own emptyness.


    I resisted.


    I grasped it harder.


    The big feeling gave up and left me, but i felt full again.


    I used a bit of my fullness to fuel my growth.


    But not all of it.


    I dont like the emptyness.


    I dont like the blackness, either.


    I like feeling full.


    Full and large.


    Like a treasure chest.


    Ill try to produce more from now on.