At some point between their leaving,
and your becoming,
you stop feeling.
And no, this is not a long-lasting,
painful sort of “I hope this ends“
because you’ve never been good at endings anyway.
This is worse. This is an “I feel nothing“
to the point that you know you should panic
but even panic has deserted you.
You are dry.
Like a land that has had no water,
a barren lake, earth cracked by the sun.
And no one informs the ground how to look away
from the sun that is making it fruitless, just like
no one informs you how to force feelings into a barren heart.
Call it a phase.
Call it a chapter.
But do not, whatever you do, call it shelter.
This is just what it feels like
to be the empty vessel the healing needs
to fill with the water that will make you feel like you belong.
