This… weight. This intense inward pull that doesn’t discriminate as it turns your every fiber of my happiness inside out. This hole. I look at her and even though we only dated for a little more than a day, I feel like I let her go. The hole inside of me mocks the hole between us, in which lies our relationship, or, what our relationship could have been. It was too early, it was too damn early and I should have seen it coming. She wasn’t ready and I didn’t even have her number yet. It seemed like so many conscience choices were made that pushed us apart when the goal was to come together. I see her now, sitting with her group of friends happy. I wonder if it is the same happy that I am feeling. A facade to ward off the probing questions from friends. A stolen glance in her direction when I hear her signature laugh. An attuned ear for any hint of remorse that, inevitably, I won’t hear. I won’t receive anything but the short straw of life from which I’m forced to trudge forward to the next encounter in which I will have to face this weight… this pull… this hole…