They leave you with all of the wreckage to pick up, theirs, yours, and everything else from the aftermath of your meeting and parting. You sit and wonder...after the piecing back together if it could come back together again.

You numb yourself and shove the thought away. You write every thought out as it comes, listen to the same songs, talk to your family, read poetry obsessively, try to get back to some shadow--some remnant of your former self. You try to admit, outside of your writing life, that you are okay.

You try to admit that their leaving is permanent but your mind screams from some deep unreachable place that it's temporary. This is where your pain resides.

Rinse and repeat.
Xoxo