prompt was two words, just two words, no explanation
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To write about something you have to experience it. Struggling to find a glimpse of a calm moment, I found it on a beach, next to a friend. So to find an empty space, I walked into my closet, threw out all the clothes, the hangers, the bags, the ripped and torn boxes, shut the door, and bathed in my own personal empty space. That was until I realized it wasn't empty. Beneath me was a stained carpet, above me a creamy white ceiling, around me shelves. If I went outside of my room, their laid the television, and my siblings laughing at a comedic program, furniture vacant beside them. Outside my house, a pair of children were playing a game of hopscotch, cars sped by, wind softly blew through a tree, sitting in front of my neighbors house. Nowhere around me was an empty space. Even if I could manage to find a completely empty space it wouldn't be empty, I would be in it. I have never experienced an empty space, not just physically, but mentally. I live a life where I'm often so busy fulfilling the demands and the expectations of other people, that I am not able to step back and enjoy life in a true empty space.
I live a fast paced life. It's a show, a show which my peers really like, it stars a loud, impulsive kid, unique in every way, and slightly ADHD. Of course I have to put on a show for my teachers, one of a respectful young man, if not slightly nonsensical, and one for my parents, they enjoy a bright individual, who is in control of his life, and knows exactly what he is doing. It seems I have spent my whole life being putting on a show for other people. To stuff my life's empty space with others and their wants, for the sole sake of being successful. Heck its exciting, its exhilarating, and its fast paced, but its so shallow.
Last week, I found myself alone in the woods, and I found it peaceful. In the woods I was able to drop my act, look at who I really was, finding a glimpse of an empty space, not filled with other people's wants. Nobody there wanted a well written essay, due that Friday ( with no missing commas and no contractions), they didn't want me to go to a good college and get a high paying job, as if any of that even matters. They didn't even want me to change how I act, They didn't care, I was of no matter to them. Alone in the woods I came as close as I have ever gotten to feeling an empty space, I knew as soon as I left all my responsibilities would be dropped back on my shoulders, but in that moment it seemed like the cluttered space of my life got a little cleared out. I have rarely felt so alive.
People like paintings, they like it when a person takes a canvas and paints a mess of colors on it, making a meaningful and beautiful picture. What I like better is a blank canvas, an empty canvas, where I can look at it and imagine the painting I want to occupy it, not to take in someone else's view, but make it my own. Empty space is a physical impossibility, but I have also made it a mental impossibility, My life is cramped up with other peoples demands, and other peoples expectations, filling my blank canvas with a dash of wild whirling colors. Maybe my parents and my teachers are right, maybe the way too be successful in life is to cram your space with people and their wants, but too write about something you have to experience it, you have to hold in your grasp, dissect it, know what it feels like. Until I reach that day, I will continue my act, my mad dash for other people, and hopefully one day I'll stumble upon an empty space, a closet with all the clothes, the hangers, the bags, the ripped and torn boxes thrown out of it, nobody to live for, except for me.
empty space
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To write about something you have to experience it. Struggling to find a glimpse of a calm moment, I found it on a beach, next to a friend. So to find an empty space, I walked into my closet, threw out all the clothes, the hangers, the bags, the ripped and torn boxes, shut the door, and bathed in my own personal empty space. That was until I realized it wasn't empty. Beneath me was a stained carpet, above me a creamy white ceiling, around me shelves. If I went outside of my room, their laid the television, and my siblings laughing at a comedic program, furniture vacant beside them. Outside my house, a pair of children were playing a game of hopscotch, cars sped by, wind softly blew through a tree, sitting in front of my neighbors house. Nowhere around me was an empty space. Even if I could manage to find a completely empty space it wouldn't be empty, I would be in it. I have never experienced an empty space, not just physically, but mentally. I live a life where I'm often so busy fulfilling the demands and the expectations of other people, that I am not able to step back and enjoy life in a true empty space.
I live a fast paced life. It's a show, a show which my peers really like, it stars a loud, impulsive kid, unique in every way, and slightly ADHD. Of course I have to put on a show for my teachers, one of a respectful young man, if not slightly nonsensical, and one for my parents, they enjoy a bright individual, who is in control of his life, and knows exactly what he is doing. It seems I have spent my whole life being putting on a show for other people. To stuff my life's empty space with others and their wants, for the sole sake of being successful. Heck its exciting, its exhilarating, and its fast paced, but its so shallow.
Last week, I found myself alone in the woods, and I found it peaceful. In the woods I was able to drop my act, look at who I really was, finding a glimpse of an empty space, not filled with other people's wants. Nobody there wanted a well written essay, due that Friday ( with no missing commas and no contractions), they didn't want me to go to a good college and get a high paying job, as if any of that even matters. They didn't even want me to change how I act, They didn't care, I was of no matter to them. Alone in the woods I came as close as I have ever gotten to feeling an empty space, I knew as soon as I left all my responsibilities would be dropped back on my shoulders, but in that moment it seemed like the cluttered space of my life got a little cleared out. I have rarely felt so alive.
People like paintings, they like it when a person takes a canvas and paints a mess of colors on it, making a meaningful and beautiful picture. What I like better is a blank canvas, an empty canvas, where I can look at it and imagine the painting I want to occupy it, not to take in someone else's view, but make it my own. Empty space is a physical impossibility, but I have also made it a mental impossibility, My life is cramped up with other peoples demands, and other peoples expectations, filling my blank canvas with a dash of wild whirling colors. Maybe my parents and my teachers are right, maybe the way too be successful in life is to cram your space with people and their wants, but too write about something you have to experience it, you have to hold in your grasp, dissect it, know what it feels like. Until I reach that day, I will continue my act, my mad dash for other people, and hopefully one day I'll stumble upon an empty space, a closet with all the clothes, the hangers, the bags, the ripped and torn boxes thrown out of it, nobody to live for, except for me.