In the aftermath...

I can feel the sun, even though it is a cold day.
It slices through the air to reach me, standing alone, on this freezing cold beach.
My hat is pulled down over my ears, my gloved hands are shoved deep into my pockets, and I wrap myself tight in my coat, but it is useless.
The winds off this lake are mean.
I resolve to stand here in this bitter March lion, my back turned against the town that turned on me.
I resolve to not move until I feel an emotion. Let it be grief, regret, longing.
Let it be anger, though it is too soon.
Let it be loneliness, or love, or shame, or, love. “Please God, let it be love.”

The physical ache creeps over me slowly, slipping out from under the stinging of my exposed skin. I will not move.
“Please God, let me feel something.” The ache burrows deep into me, physically, I am awake and alive, and emotionally I am dead.

I am praying to be reminded of a feeling, any feeling to replace the numbness that has moved in.
But there is nothing to be felt today except cold, and sand bitten, and empty.