I know what it feels like. If I were to describe it, I would say that it's like a box of ice cream with half of the content smoothly scooped out. I can feel it from the center of my chest to my left arm to it's fingers. There will always be something missing. I find it difficult to find the right hour of rest. I can't love and I can't grieve. I can smile, I can be angry, I can laugh, I can be apathetic, I can stare into your eyes and tell you the truth. Well, at least the truth I believe. I eat, sleep, walk, talk, tell jokes, complain, be glad, and respect you. But I am here now on my bed, like every night at this hour. I will once again close my eyes and wait for sleep to come. There will always be something missing.
4:57am 30 May 2011