The light had moved through the commune, passing over many faces caught in the contemplation of that love that I can still feel in my core, diminished though it might be. For some reason, the light stopped on me, separating me out.
Then the people in yellow suits. So many of them, at least a dozen. They grabbed me. They pulled me away. As I realized what was happening, the pain—the pain was as great as if I had been grafted to the others in the commune, skin stitched to skin, perhaps deeper, tissues joined to tissues. The pain ripped me open.