The feeling that I was rejected did not come from any particular words. It was her body language, her visible discomfort - despite the beautiful sunny day it was, despite our conversation earlier, despite my caring for her - that made my heart collapse upon itself.
I thought we were getting somewhere. Apparently I am the only one with feelings when we communicate.
When I sigh now, it is not a sigh that comes from mental exhaustion, or from the knowledge of tedium. It ultimately comes from that physical feeling, that one where the walls of the heart are thinning and the blood right there is aching and the organ itself is rolling into a ball and shrinking.
Blood, in other parts of the body, wanders elsewhere as it will, and something, perhaps a spirit, is released from inside me into the air, joining the nothingness it always was.