She's gone for not more than 24 hours, and already I can write again. She's not gone gone, but just away for the weekend.

But perhaps it's not that she's gone that's enabling me to write... It's the fact that my world is broken. I can't explain it correctly, but somehow the world just doesn't fit together the way it did once before. Nothing in particular is off, it's just that the slotted groves that my behaviour used to snap right into are now ever so slightly too narrow, or curved off in just the wrong spot, so whereas before my life ran along it's tracks smoothly, and without error, it now feels as if it's moving in stops and fits.

I wish I could explain it better than that. It really doesn't capture what I'm feeling... A sort of detachment from myself and the world around me, some sort of odd autistic snap. I told someone this morning that I couldn't feel anything. My emotions feel like they're wrapped in heavy cotton, and no piercing love or burning hatred can touch my heart through it's wrapping.

Maybe I should sleep, and when I awaken the world will be a brighter color, and will have form and definition again.