Poems, Stories, And Unorganized Messes

Just Imagine

Imagine an opus
A work of art
Something that you dedicated years to creating and perfecting.
A constant effort, unresting.
All of your life, poured into this.
Got that idea in your head yet? Good.
Now imagine that work of art was a person. A person you taught to walk and talk and think.
A person you had known for years.
A person that idolized you and believed in you, and you believed in them.
Alright, now imagine that you still had that work-of-art-person, not just one, but now multiple. An entire conglomerate of people you love and developed.
Now.
Just imagine.
In a split second, without warning, that all gets taken away from you.
And taken over by someone else, that didn't put in the effort, and that the people don't believe in.
But you can't do anything about it.
Imagine how that feels;
Can you hear your heart cracking, turning brittle, and disintegrating into a billion pieces? Can you see through the tears that now occupy and dance on the edge of your eyes?
Can you feel your throat clogging up, your face stinging, unable to make a sound?
I can imagine it, but he is feeling it, and there is no way for me to help.