Gone.

Nothing compares to this.

I have been scared, angry, frustrated, sad – all emotions that I tried to wriggle away from because they hurt. I’ve been panicked, worried, upset – all emotions that drove me to sometimes-rash but always decisive actions because time was of the essence.

But nothing compares to the feeling of having love stripped away. Not when it’s the kind of love that comes from 10 years of steady, everyday effort. It’s like having a vital organ removed. It’s like staring down and seeing your guts spilling out into your hands. There is disbelief and shock while you look at the bloody mess, then the sure knowledge that you just won’t survive this. There isn’t even pain, at first. Just the stark fact that this is a mortal wound. People aren’t meant to survive by carrying their guts around in their hands. It simply isn’t done. No one has done it before, surely I can’t either.

Having love excised isn’t torture. It’s a battle wound. For a fight you didn’t even know you were in. You just looked up from the great hole in your middle and saw a battle field all around you. I don’t even know how I got here. They say bleeding out is a quiet way to go. But it’s not fast. It’s oh so very slow. Enough to feel every drop of blood chasing the love out of your body. It sounds like there might be peace at the end.

Like an empty shell on a mortared field.

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