Where do you feel it? She asked.
Everywhere. I said.
What does it feel like? She said.
Empty. The kind of empty that that feels like nothing, but feels like pain all at the same time. There’s nothing left there, but it aches so incredibly–a heavy hole in the center of your being.
How will you get rid of it? She asked.
I don’t know. I think I might sleep it away. Or wait for her to come back. Or hope that in the morning she wakes up and realizes that she loves me back.
What if she doesn’t? She said.
Then I will wake up and hope it hurts a little less tomorrow. And a little less the day after that. Until hopefully one day I become full again, me again. And put back all of the pieces I gave to her in hopes that she would love me, too. I’ll put them back to where I pulled them from in hopes that the person I recreate closely resembles the one I started as…because I’m pretty sure I liked that person. And I’m pretty sure she’s good enough.
Does it hurt? She asked.
Terribly, I said. And then I shut my eyes.
Because it won’t hurt so badly tomorrow.