You only know it hurts

It is a strange thing to be so full of an emotion, and yet not be able to name it. To feel the need to talk, and yet not know to whom, or about what. A sensation that is both so real as to produce a physical response, and yet so nebulous as to be undefinable. It makes you wonder where your sorrow ends, and you begin, if in fact such a boundary even exists.

You don't know what it is. You only know it's there. You only know it hurts.