Space. Spaces. The meaning occurs in the spaces between the words, in the unfulfilled potential between scenes. There were spaces between Donald and the things that he said. There are spaces between you and I. Is there meaning in those spaces? If I can eliminate any space between us does that mean we stop having meaning? There was three hundred miles between us, but was that too much or too little space?

Hockey players’ mouths are full of meaning.

But what does it mean to mean? To signify?

There are too many spaces in my life. Created by people and words and thoughts. They can hurt or provoke, they can consume or engender. There is a space inside me. A hollow waiting to be filled, but can that space ever be inhabited? Can we inhabit the spaces in our lives? Slip into the holes bored between worlds and people. Perhaps I cannot fill the spaces in my life, but can I fill them in yours? Were  spaces created when we were rent from the four-armed and four-legged creatures into two-legged beasts searching for our other halves? Or is that just society trying to give us something with which to wile the years away.

What does it mean when all the spaces contain you?