A shell

I yearn for that time ago.
I reach for the place before.
I grasp for the past. So fleeting, so escaping, so painful, yet so encaptivating.
I reach out my hand only to get bitten.
The pain, like a million knives driven through me.
It persists.
I pull back.
The raw, gutteral pain is gone. In its place, despair, defeat, until it is no more.
I am left an empty shell. A shell without feeling. A shell without warmth or care. A shell to be forgotten.