When I was in JC, I had to see a cardiologist. The nurses strapped me up with wires and hooked up a small metal box on my chest. I wore them all under my uniform for 24 hours. The wires, the electricity, the small metal box. 24 hours later, the doctor told me I had a hole in my heart.

There is a cup in this world, with a hole at the bottom. You can pour all the water you want in it and it would be empty. Dripping out, leaking out. You can fit the entire ocean in it. It would be empty.

"Drink me fast before I am empty," I told her. And in the darkness, she sought me to quench her thirst.

I was afraid to be alone. I did not like to feel empty. I hated the twilight, the changing of the lights, the transition when I had to be alone.

And then, She told me she could stay through the night. I woke up in the morning and she was still with me. We went for breakfast; we ate lunch; we had dinner together. Supper was in bed.

"Why do you want to stay with me?" I asked.

She showed me her heart. There was a hole too.
I laughed and cried:

"That makes us two! That makes us two! And now, it would be a lifetime for us to learn how to share our solitude."