The Wall

I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling that some part of me was amputated. Not metaphorically pretty. Literally functional. She was built into my days, my decisions, my sense of home, my nervous system, my future, my language, my jokes, my anger, my comfort, my sex life, my parenting, my assumptions, my body. Remove that and yeah, I can still operate. But not whole. Not like before. Not without phantom pain.