I was once so full of feelings. They’d found a home in my heart and grew and grew until hope and love was all I knew. But then the root of them died—or was torn away—so suddenly and unexpectedly. My heart mourned that missing piece and the feelings were wept. Then I was full of pain. I began to think pain was the root of the heart and all things grew from it, but pain is as foreign to the heart as the mind. Pain is some penitent god of sorrow. Pain is the facilitating hand of catharsis. That tight constricting ache around a broken heart is a divine grip which refuses to let the heart truly break while it pumps out those rootless, dying feelings. Pain sought my recovery when all else abandoned me. Then pain left me with an emptiness to rebuild my heart anew.