You know that feeling, don't you? You've had a giant meal, gorged yourself on sweets and wine and have a wonderful dizzy feeling - and then you wake up the next day and your stomach aches, your heart is racing and your head is pounding. It all looked and tasted so good last night and then - bam! - the sweetness is gone. Not only that, but the relative emptiness has you aching as if you had never ever fed yourself.
And yet something is still in you, spinning you around and causing you to dread the next minutes for fear of feeling even worse. This feeling of being drunk on emptiness is even worse than that of surfeit. And suddenly the music from last night is playing on the radio and you run to turn it off, but it is echoing from stereos all around the house, the neighborhood. No, the music is playing in your head and you can't get rid of it. The song reminds you of the feast and of the people there and the laughter and warmth and dancing and closeness. But today it's all gone, all over, and you doubt the good feelings will ever come again. The conversation about music and literature was all just posing, one person trying to impress another. Empty words now, you realize.
Go ahead, eat and drink again. Try to get full. You'll just end up empty again.
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