honesty

Something about late nights and melancholy continually abandons me in my bed with an unanswerable question: is life empty? I know all the typical solutions, including religious fulfillment, sacrifice for others, simple pleasures, etc. But what about that loneliness that gnaws on the silences that are unavoidable late at night, when we are too tired to fight off this haunting question of humanity? What will happen when I awake years from now and realize that, after faith, family, memories, joys, sorrows, journeys, and strangers, I am still empty? I assume it is the nature of being human to never be satisfied with failure or success. And contact with deity, though sufficient to bring hope, purpose, and healing, is faithful to leave me unsatisfied with bones and spirit.