There’s a warm space inside all of us, soft and safe; no particular shape, but it’s probably curvy and if it was an object, it would feel just right to hold, like it was made for your hand. Sometimes this space is empty, and when it is, it calls out to be filled. A hollow feeling in your gut can warn you of this; a peculiar hunger that can’t be sated by the usual mastication and digestive processes. It’s a strange space, because sometime a tiny thing can fill it right up. The more it fills, the warmer it becomes, and you feel this like a glow emanating from your belly. Sometimes it even feels like your heart is radiating heat. The heat is also strange because even though only you can feel it, people around you can see it; you shine like a firefly, pulsing with inner luminosity. Some days you can search and search and find nothing to fill this space. Other days, you don’t even have to leave the house. A certain smell that triggers remembrance; the sound of a car door closing; the feel of arms around you; the sun rising after a long and joyful night; the taste of bacon and a hot cup of tea; all these things fill up my space, my happiness space. When it’s emptying, I remember the times it was full, and even just that memory can top it up a little, to keep me going until the next joy injection. Sometimes I’m running on fumes, but I don’t think I’m ever on empty. Right now it feels like the walls of the space are stretching to deal with everything that’s inside it!

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