I don’t know what to do. I know what I am supposed to do. I am supposed to mourn and wear black. I am supposed to cry. That’s a big one – you are always supposed to cry. I think I might have a defect inside of me, because I can’t cry. I used to cry at everything, whether it was a book or a movie causing the tears, it did not even have to be sad. But, something changed when I heard the news, and it was like all of the emotion was just spooned right out of me like that seedy mess of a cantaloupe. Now I am just the shell. I have the flesh and I have the protective skin but I am starting to wonder if there is anything left underneath all of that. If there is, I cannot seem to find it. I feel hollow. Like those chocolates we would always get on Easter. You know, how it looks so big and you get all excited but then you take a bite and taste all that air? Some pieces fall into the center, because there is nothing there but empty space.
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