Have I left them? Do they need filling?
Why do we have some strange compulsion to fill a space every time we see one?
Surely we haver to yearn for a point where the need to fill spaces leaves us.
Its situational, I get it.
In a book isn’t leaving space some sort of waste of a chance, was of some portion of a tree. Ha ha.
Maybe the same in other parts of life, we don’t want to feel like we are wasting anything; time, words, moments, space.
Maybe one or the other is not a waste at all.