Un-

The act of un-loving fucks with the mind, peeling off layers of memory is as painful as peeling off skin itself; there comes a point, when there is a hollow in the heart felt, and the pain ceases to be emotional per se and assumes multi-dimensional proportions, like you can actually feel there is something wrong in the left chest, some kind of void, or an emptyheartedness, a physical actual pain, and it's not as funny as it sounds though, also there is this waiting emotional outburst, that waits for nobody knows what, and one loses the ability to cry, like one is waiting for that stretch of time, when one would sit on the bed and scream and let out the motherfucking gasp, but somehow there is no time, no opportunity, to cry at a time, so there are these frequent escapes of intense shortlived emotion, hot tears, heavy breathing, like almost panting, not knowing what to do, looking away puzzled, staring at the washroom mirror puzzled and then crying, and watching drops crawl out of one eye and wonder why the other is not grieving, along with which comes this mental incapacity, incapacity to believe, to let sink in, the hard realization that whatever is happening is indeed happening and it's not a dream or some kind of nightmare, the shock is so overwhelming that one sometimes refuses to accept in their subconscious that this was indeed possible, lastly, there is this shame, one is ashamed that one could have the degree of naivety to discard all bodily organs of intelligence and for real embrace the inane stupidity of love, one keeps relapsing into phases when she thinks, how could she have been so foolish, what was she thinking, what was she thinking, while in the act of loving itself.