First and Gone, by Jim Woessner

A mutual friend read about her on Facebook. I felt numb when I heard. Numb is too strong, I felt nothing, nothing at all. Not sadness, not regret. It was just another death. Could have been anyone. Even though she had been my first—first love, first kiss, first sex. Thirty years ago we shared every minute, every breath. I certainly had that. The memory of who we were before we became strangers. The oddest sensation was emptiness. I looked everywhere for my feelings. But they had vanished, as if they had crept out of the house in stocking feet.