One of my favorite characters in one of my favorite stories of all time is an old man. In the first chapter he attributes pain in his body to emotional experiences he’s had. Loss felt in his kidneys, etc.
The first time I read that, I was shocked. How could someone else think of that? I thought those sensations were unique to me. I thought perhaps it had something to do with my bone defect. I hypothesized that so many of my memories, both good and bad, had been associated with broken bones that I had learned to process feeling that way.
It kind of makes me sad. That this trait is not unique to me. But it kind of makes me happy, too.
I feel love as an ache in my sternum. Real passionate love, like the way I love Leo, pulls all the way around my rib cage. Almost as if the bone could be snapped by the weight of perpetual longing and satisfaction.
And today, missing him makes a sore, empty feeling in the hollow space below my ribs.