I can’t sleep. I’m thinking of all the people I should never have fallen in love with. I keep replaying the moments when I should’ve realized they were wrong for me and noticing that I did realize but I went through with it all anyway. And as they were breaking my heart, I would have already forgiven them.
Such a violent thing, the breaking of a heart. And yet so easily dismissed and the pain never validated and we feel guilty for lying in bed, crying, for days, or weeks. We can’t call in sick to work. We can’t go to a doctor to set that broken thing inside us. There’s no medication to be prescribed to help us recover. They tell us it takes time, we’ll get over it, but we have broken hearts. There are shards inside our chest cavities that cut whenever we breathe. There are jagged pieces floating through our blood, screaming against our soft, thin skin. There are splintered bits flung as far as our eyes, irritating them so they’re constantly red and watering; pushing against them and making us dread the light. The biggest chunks get lodged in our brains, forcing us to remember every promise that was broken and the exact way their lips shaped the words “I love you.” Our hearts are festering wounds infecting our bones, swelling our joints, making it impossible to move.
So much violence and we’re only given half-hearted sympathies and assurances that we’ll fall in love again someday.
Of course we will! We know that. But right now? Our hearts are broken and we ache. Isn’t there anything you can do for that?