Some days you're hollow. Your bits are gone, you aren't getting them back, and you're at wits end.
The weight of the missing pulls down with overwhelming force and fractures what has been holding you together.
The inexcusable hole screams vacancy and masks any distractions with grief and misery. Incapability sinks in.
Alone, the distance of across state miles seem as far away as the heavens. The lost feet of home wandering far and wide can't be seen or heard. The parts of the heart you once owned are now divided and possessed by those people called home, helping their blood to pump, keeping their feet moving. On with life. Away from you.
The shear joy of three summers spent in His Light are unfortunately only balanced out with the lifelong depression you gain. The wound feels always fresh, even as it begins and continues to heal.
The gouge you obtained instead of a heart is healed over with scarring material. Wanderers don't understand the missing part. And there is no way to describe the reason you gave 30 or so people pieces of your self and let them roam free, when you yourself, completely alone, can't understand.
