I stared up at the pitch black ceiling, moving my eyes about as if I was in search of something. Maybe I was looking for something. Perhaps an answer to the question that I had been fretting over since he had stated how he felt.
"I feel lost," he mumbled as he looked up at the night sky.
Maybe the reason for the feeling of loss deep in our chests, was because we were what was missing in someone's life. Like a missing crayon that would have made the drawing more vibrant, or maybe an absent puzzle piece that would have completed a picture, giving the image more sense.
Our presence would have removed the emptiness that certain person had been feeling, and we might even feel found.
Sighing, I shifted on my bed. I still didn't have an answer for the question I gave myself.
Why did he feel lost, when I've already found him?
