Loss.
The first time you meet her,
You'll never forget her.
The way she washes over you.
Sometimes a slow creep.
Other times,
A fast wave.
The sting of her smack,
Across you face.
The fear of her reappearance.
The destruction in her wake.
Every hole left behind.
Like black voids.
Every time she comes,
The pain never lessens.
Every time,
Leaving another empty space.
A black stain,
On the very essence of who you are.
Before long,
You're left with an entire self,
Full of black voids,
And empty holes.