It's oxymoronic
How you and I and everyone we know or could ever conceive is mostly full of empty space
Full of empty
It's hard to believe, but sometimes it's not
Occasionally you can feel it
Like when you take a blow to your stomach all too fast
Or a blow to your heart from remembering your past
Full of empty
But if it's true
How do I have the stuff in me to love you?
When I give you my everything, am I giving you nothing?
Does my matter even matter?
Full of empty
Physically we are composed of gaps between subatomic particles
Emotionally we are composed of gaps between ourselves and another
Mentally we are composed of the gaps between our neurons
Spiritually we are composed of the gaps between us and what we believe in
That gap is empty
Yet we're there
Filling it up
With how much we care
It's oxymoronic
But we're full of empty
We're simply complex