Space: A Short Story

I wonder what fills the space between an inhale and an exhale. After my lungs balloon with air, is there a lapse in action? There must be even the slightest millisecond of space.   Space- an empty area between things.  

 “Have you purged?” My psychiatrist asked. I pause, marveling at the ridiculousness of her question. I had spent the last week pushing baked ziti around my dinner tray with a plastic fork. I loved seeing how much space I could make on the tray by simply reorganizing the pasta. The spaces left a million options open, which exhilarated me. There was so much potential in even the slightest of spaces.

“No.” Of course I had not; my stomach was filled with space, not pasta. Even if I filled my stomach, I could not spend more than five minutes in the bathroom without a nurse knocking on the door. There was no space for purging.

 I look down at my body, and notice how much space I take up. I want nothing more than to be paper thin, and whenever the boy I like hugs me, I wonder if he thinks I take up too much space. I wonder if he notices how full my mind is, so full that all of my potential is left directionless. I wonder if he knows that I will never tell him how I feel; I will never close the space between us.

 That is not to say I have never closed the space between me and him. From the first day I met him, he occupied my mind. He represented everything I would never be or have, and so I vowed to never speak to him. Eventually, I was tired of all of the wasted space he took up in my mind, so I reached out to him.  

Soon, he hugged me every time we spoke and tapped me on the shoulder when he passed by. I had never met someone so bold, and it frightened me, but also excited me. We were so different, and I could not foresee the future with him. It left space for endless possibilities; possibilities that would never be fulfilled, but always had the chance of becoming fulfilled.

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