I can’t even handle love, there’s no way I can handle it being taken away. I won’t survive it. Please. Please. Please!”

I said that I had something to say to her, which made her listen in a way that she didn’t when I simply said things without the preface. Even though the preface meant nothing, it calmed her, just as it calmed real people, for the same no-reason.

I told her what people tell people. That this was what it felt like when love was taken away—but that it wasn’t the truth, it was just a feeling. It would pass. It would take time.
She would recharge.

She didn’t believe me.

No one ever believes it, I said. That’s part of what the feeling is.

B.J. Novak