There's a hole in my chest.

When I breathe in, breathe in deep enough so that all the air in my chest makes me feel dizzy with the effort of filling my lungs, still there is an emptiness there.

I don’t know if it’s my heart or my soul.

Maybe it’s both.

Everything seems pointless.

For a while I though I just need a hug.

That I was tired.

Hungover.

Maybe I needed to eat.

It’ll be better tomorrow.

But now it is tomorrow.

There have been many tomorrows.

And still it's empty.

Sure, sometimes it'll feel better for a while.

Instead of a constant dull ache in my chest it'll only hurt when I think about it.

Other days it is all I can think about, a gaping wound, a monster devouring all my emotions.

Leaving nothing but a dark hole, an abyss of silent, decaying confusion.

Maybe it will eventually just all rot away, and there won’t even be a hole anymore.

Nothing. My chest will contract, seamlessly closing it over, and the place where I should feel won’t exist anymore.

Maybe I will learn not to miss it.