Limbo

"What is it that you truly love?" he asked. Though it may have sounded clichéd, that simple question hit me like the heaviest truck. A whirlwind of thoughts took over my mind, seeking the answer, while some part of me already knew. Yet, there was a part that yearned to deny, to suppress.

"What is it that you truly, deeply love?" he reiterated. I wanted to brush it off with laughter, to mock the very notion, shaking my head in disbelief. I wanted to feign certainty, as I had done for as long as memory served. "Is there something you possess, that if taken, would leave you unable to survive?" In an instant, I found myself encapsulated within a bubble,  straining desperately to recall something, anything, that I had done or experienced—a fragment of my being that I couldn't bear to be without. It nearly drove me to madness.

What enraged me was how everything I had ever pursued, everywhere I had traveled, and every piece of myself that life had claimed, all converged into a solitary question—

One damn question: "What is it that you truly love and cannot live without?" I knew the answer, yet I didn't. "Do you not have a response, anything to utter?" I resisted revealing the truth. I turned away, concealing my despair, and chose to dissolve once more into the wretched comfort of this limbo.