Any given Sunday, 3:07 AM

To remove someone’s pieces of life from yours. To remove someone’s smell from your brain, someone’s feel from your hands. To remove someone’s emails from your inbox, their pictures from your phone. To remove their words, their face, their essence, what made then unique, from your psyche.

Every person that walks into your life leaves a memory of unrelenting power. It can trigger emotions, elicit words, call out tears, bring on smiles. The strength given to these memories is independent of time, quantity or quality. Rather, it is your heart, that inhospitable reigning king of your emotional self, who decides to assign value to each piece.

A word, a look, a small conversation, a long love affair. It has a value that couldn’t be rationally explained by the brightest minds. To remove that weight, so irreplaceable and rare in its emotional intricacies, is what causes pain. For everything that goes into making those pieces stay within you and transform into displays of emotion, tangible or intangible, leaves a mark in your heart far too big to cover with skin and blood. Their existence, and their subsequent forced eviction, causes strain in one’s already damaged spirit.

This is what pain is made of. Big holes left by pieces of someone else of whom you have to let go. Big holes left by someone who inadvertently walked into your life and changed it. As selfish as humans can be, as painful as this process always is, we repeat it every chance we get. There is no life, no certain way of knowing one’s alive, unless this pain manifests within you.

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