Can you imagine half your heart being ripped out of your chest? The other half keeps beating, but it’s damaged beyond repair, and not a damn thing can mend it. You’re hopeless this way. You fold into yourself and are left with no choice but to feel every wave of emotion, every clench of the belly, every halted breath as you slowly wish for the oxygen to leave your lungs, because what’s the point of breathing anymore? It feels like you’ll never survive such agony—like you’ll never recover . . . like you’re dying too.
