A cold pain sits heavy on my chest and off in the distance, I hear something like the like the howling of far-off wolves seeking to devour me. Even if it were a horde of rabid monsters, frothing at the mouth with a hunger for my body, I wouldn’t bother raising my arms in defense. In my chest is a hole the shape of your silhouette, the frayed edges of flesh dancing in the wind rushing through. For these tears, too I, would like to blame this wind, stirring up debris and stinging my eyes. But when I offered to share my heart with you, you ripped out what you deemed your portion and left me scraps, left me empty and alone. When we so often talked of running away, I thought it would be us together instead of just you from a love you faked. And now where am I to go without a partner along this path and only tatters of heart?

I still read through your old letters and songs like postcards of sights I’ve seen along this love, a chronicle of happiness I could visit like a temple. But unlike most travelers, I can’t return to those sights I yearn to see again. My temple has crumbled. How do I begin to sift through the pieces? What am I even looking for?

What little remains of my heart is unable to do its job. And so, this blood in my veins sits stagnant, fermenting into alcohol—a bitter cocktail of sadness, self-pity, anger, and traces of regret. Put my blood on tap and get drunk on my mistakes—one final gift I put on your altar. Although my temple has crumbled, I vowed to be a disciple until death. You were my everything and you took it all away.

Where are those hungry wolves? I open my arms. Dinner is served.