Massive

I’ve read that there’s a massive hormonal shift when you break up with someone, and that’s why you stop tasting food, sleep too little or too much, lie around in dark rooms all day wanting to die. Even if that’s the explanation, it’s still not the point.
What matters is that love invades the body, roots in the millions of miracles, the still-unknown processes that keep us alive against all probability, that have ties to the amoeba and the ape and have brought us bloody into the world through ice ages and droughts, left us squealing on riverbanks and in the dirt of sacred caves. That it’s something I’m no more able to control than the growth of my own hair, the peeling of my skin, that when love goes it leaves a hole all of Brooklyn could fall into.