I cried last night. A lot. The deep, heaving kind. The kind that rushes over you without warning like a sudden storm over tranquil seas. It was a perfect storm as they say and it knocked my off my feet.
At the advice of Rebs, I took a long, hot shower, hoping it would wash him out. Praying the streams would dissolve these aches and wounds he'd caused. They didn't.
Today I am numb. I don't want to think or feel. Anything.
The songs I play to pass the time here at my desk are just noise. Empty. Without meaning. Without tune.
I don't want to eat, but I am, because I refuse to be that girl - the one who is lovesick and achey and wasting away. Sadly, though, when I eat, food has little taste. I eat to live even when I want parts of me to die.
My heart has short-circuited the rest of me.
My senses fail.
I am a walking ghost.
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