Empty.

I always wondered what a watermelon rind must feel like after all the meat has been removed; so empty, so bare, just a shell, not worth anything, even when correctly assembled to resemble a watermelon again, it is not. Now, perhaps, I know this. For I feel that certain choices of late have left me as this shell. I feel that I am empty and that I have left myself somewhere else. All that walks around now, is a shell.