A broken heart is a warm slap on the face.
It comforts you with the sting of your tears and your own kiss goodnight.
A broken heart feels unsolved; a puzzle with one piece missing.
It gives a swift goodbye. No caution sign warning the passenger of the minefield ahead.
A broken heart is abrupt. It hits the brakes a little too hard, making you gasp for a breath of air.
It is a closed file; a cold case with a lock and no key.
A broken heart is a vase with no flowers. It is a dress unworn and a date stood up.
It is the awkward in-between of caring too much and needing to let go.
Yet, no one ever lets go.
We carry our broken hearts on our sleeves, asking our pipe dream to mend them.
In desperation, we plead, please sew up these cuts and ice these bruises.
No reply.
We are only looking at ourselves in these smoke and mirror, unable to identify the cure for the monster.
The lines are too blurred and the mirror is too foggy.
The smudged lipstick is on the floor.
We start to smell the burnt coffee.
We ask ourselves, “Who am I?”
We don’t know; not anymore.
We were too focused on trying not to focus on them.
The ones that got away.
The ones that left before we could stay.
The ones that cupped their palms, catching all our tears.
The ones that gladly let them fall; then showed us their backs and walked out the door.
The ones that lifted us up just to bring us down.
We were too focused on ourselves to realize we were the ones.
The ones that listened to our own voices.
The ones that heard the pain behind the laughter.
The ones that ignored it to suppress the underlying sadness.
The ones that knew they loved us.
We rejected them.
We loved them.
It was an endless cycle.
We repeated it to ourselves like a broken record.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Unable to say it without built-up emotions making our whole bodies tingle with angst.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Unable to whisper these three little words without our brain listening to bittersweet memories.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I love you is a broken heart.
A broken heart is love.
Love moves on, and so will our broken hearts.
Mine did, does, and will continue to.
A broken heart is a warm slap on the face.
It comforts you with the sting of tears and a nostalgic kiss goodnight.
Goodnight.
