You always imagined you’d have to reach inside yourself and rip it out, wring it from your soul, radiate it, burn it, wipe out every last micrometastasis. You thought you’d spend the rest of your life putting it in words, in song, in poetry, in art. You felt like it had incorporated itself Into your fibers, your fibrils, your DNA. You knew it would follow you from city to city, year to year, dust to dust.
But one day you take inventory of your heart and realize it’s simply gone. It disappeared quietly in the night, on little cat feet. This is how love finally leaves you. Like your youth, like your innocence, like a poem you once read as a child.