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How your heart once stretched, swollen with love, and was then suddenly stopped. The tattered, toothin membrane left behind sags, wanting again to be so full of the mindshattering happiness that had swelled it to bursting before. And you sort of wish that your heart had just burst. That it had just exploded straight out of your chest in a gory, smoking, bloody rocket so that the whole world could witness your pain at the loss of something so fleeting and intangible and permanent. How do you prove the existence of a feeling? Or its absence? How do you forget it once it’s gone? You wish you knew how to show people the rawness of your insides. The places scraped clean. They that find your pain unoriginal, ordinary, andNworseNpredictable. You want to show them that maybe this happens to everyone, but right now, it is happening to you. Overcoming your first, big love is sort of like the dead squirrels you will jog past every morning the summer everything ends. Your house is on the corner of a curving road lined with massive trees. You can never really see where the road leads. The day the squirrel dies is probably a day like any other. It has probably crossed the same road a thousand times before without incident. This last time it realizes too late that death is coming. In that frantic dash back to safety, it probably even thinks that everything will be fine, that the world has righted itself again, safety at handNa momentary high believing it has skirted death and won. The impact: instant, fatal, and, after the crunching of bones, over. Soon the pulpy, furry remains will be pounded over and over into a red stain on the pavement. The discoloration temporary, the loss of life largely unnoticed. You are unsure if you are grateful. You were, after all, happy once before you knew this part of yourself. You were content in the blissful ignorance that preceded this loss. Now that you have had a taste, all you feel is a biting hunger for what you hadn’t even known was missing. There is such weight to your solitude, such finality. But what remains still holds promise. In the midst of your wreckage, they tell you to have the courage to trust love again. Maybe just once more. And you hope they are right, that the smoke will clear. Because there was that moment, that rupture in your timeline, when you realized you were capable of loving someone more than yourself. More than life itself. And you never wanted to let it go. 18

Profile for The Sonder Review

The Sonder Review, Issue Eleven, Spring/Summer 2019  

Issue eleven features short fiction from C.C. Russell, Katherine Davis, Moriah Hampton, Ace Boggess, B.D. Feil, and L.M. Davenport; creative...

The Sonder Review, Issue Eleven, Spring/Summer 2019  

Issue eleven features short fiction from C.C. Russell, Katherine Davis, Moriah Hampton, Ace Boggess, B.D. Feil, and L.M. Davenport; creative...

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