There isn’t much to say. Hampered with a lack of material, the author struggles on in the face of meaningless absence. If meaningless absence were a rodent, it would be a squirrel. Jumping around, darting here and there on the hunt for its next nut, without a care for those observing– unless they get too close. Then zoom, it flees. You can’t put your finger on it.
A shame, really, since what you most want to do is hold it, hug it, turn it into something tangible in the hopes that the transition from absence to presence will at the same time render it meaningful.
Let’s try another metaphor.
Imagine someone ripped out one of your teeth for no reason. Then you would know the pain of a meaningless absence. A meaningless absence can really drive your actions. You’d spend some time chasing the lunatic who took your tooth out of your head, but he’d outrun you. They always do. Then you’d spend some time at the dentist getting a bridge and stuff. Time and money, baby. Time and money.
Maybe it’s worth it. But then, maybe it isn’t. And what then?