That feeling behind the ribs.
That blunt and vacuous implosion. We must have a soul; this pain is proof of its existence, confirms it for me. I see it now, in my minds eye, as if it were a firework. As the lucid multi-colours and sparks pull away, it resembles a dandelion. But the colours only get so far before the centre turns on itself and sucks them back in, and then some. This is what it means to hurt. It is not part of the human body, does not attach itself to a specific place or organ, you cannot pin-point the exact location of where it hurts. It is extremely tactile but at the same time vague. It thrives within the confines of the body, and somehow, it and you seem to blur at the edges.
In literature we are conditioned into making the link between sadness and the colour blue. One may even say Im feeling blue. ...They do not say to you sadness is black and empty. Maybe in some ways, they fool us into thinking of being sad as oddly serene and cooling, because its easier than to tell us the truth; that sadness is this black hole of absolute emptiness, surrounded by chaos.... It eats you from the inside out and swallows you whole.