Key players earn the right to exist in the matrix with a "call-sign" such as on a CB-radio of old. That is eternal and fixed as their identifier. Immortality is impossible without it. That's the prize, otherwise fade out at the end of your days and we hope you got something worthwhile out of it all. We do put a temporary reboot on those who suffered and had no chance to thrive, a sort of free pass for one more try in a better situation. It is fair we believe. So, pragmatically speaking that is the best we can do. Emotionally speaking we are all broken hearted for the situation of your species and planetary system. We'd do more if we could.
After my heart broke I bled an ocean through my eyes. My soul felt wafer thin. My body trembled and chilled. Yet even this magnitude of grief passes. And while it does, we learn more about pain than we ever wanted to know. Then we remember it. Then we use it as the fuel we need to make a world of less suffering. Or, at least, that is what I did, and I see a lot of folk doing the same thing in many different ways. Broken hearted is a tough roll of the dice, but if you transform that raw pain into your soul-roar, you'll bring down the house with all that you win. So, c'mon soldier, on your feet. We need you back.
Healing a broken heart is a recipe for which you are your own chef. The right music, the right good memories, the right boost of self worth, the right amount of self love, the support of anyone lucky enough to have you in their life... then time. Ride the waves. Wait. Pick more upbeat music once in a while. Be okay with feeling better, the world needs you, we do.
Broken hearted is not a destination, yet a difficult road that often appears at the feet, that must be walked in order to get to a better future. We can pad our shoes with good memories to absorb the shock, or let our soles feel the full pain of this change in terrain. At times we alternate between the two. As the days become months and years, the good memories keep us walking with ease, and then we are ready to love again, to feel healthy and well.
There is a sort of broken hearted that is akin to a smooshed ice-cream melting on a hot road; then there is the sort that is akin to lighting a match, enjoying the flame and leaving the ashes. My memories of you, the fun ones, are that flame, but the rest is the ashes I watch blow away in the wind. I think that's fair.
In this heartache the sun won't shine, birdsong passes as if the melody can't glide through the air as it once did before. But the truth is, I'd rather forgo comfort than keep a lover who doesn't love. So instead I will let this heartache be as my teacher and the reason to keep seeking one who can hear the playful calling of their own soul.
Where did you go, my love?
Where did you go?
There's this guy,
Who walks,
And talks,
Just like you,
But it's not you.
It's like he got your skin,
And wears it,
Like his own,
But it's not his.
That skin belongs to a man I loved,
On him it was beautiful,
And soft,
And warm,
No longer.
The skin is ashen,
The smile I loved,
Gone,
The protection,
Gone,
Just attacking and cold.
And so,
I feel like a widow,
One with no funeral,
To go to,
To mourn at,
To express my grief...
For the man who wears your skin,
I wish him love,
Long life,
Happiness,
Whoever he is,
Because he looks so much,
Like the one I loved,
And even that shadow,
I love more,
Than most ever love,
In a lifetime.
Did I ever tell you,
That I love you?
No?
Because I do.
It's just that,
My heart broke,
And mended,
With you,
On the outside,
And then he came,
And you left,
Forever.
Lover, you cut at me and then crawl back into my affections. You strike, wound, draw blood to win any victory no matter how petty. You excuse yourself with meaningless jibes about the words I used to mount my inadequate defence, playing with semantics rather than true meaning. Perhaps you are unable to understand emotions, perhaps you simply don't care, only wanting your hollow "victories" - either way we are through and the pain sears at my heart.
Once I was a glass figurine, perfect to the eye, fragile underneath. Since you used your words as weapons I am ground to the finest of dust - still glass, yet vulnerable to any gust. I still feel pain, so much raw pain, but I can't be broken anymore. You did your worst, but I am still here, sparkling in the midwinter light.
The greatest mistake I ever made was thinking that work ever mattered. I had six precious years with my son and spent most of them in an office cubicle, working late, being churlish when he asked for an extra bedtime story. Now I am nothing but a shell, worse than a robot and bereft of a love I took for granted. My heat isn't merely broken, it is a shadow of what it was and fading a little more every day.
Your soul is a pure spark of love but your rages are more than my heart can bare. You drew me in with a sweetness I'd never found before, something so strong I could feel it even when we were apart. But those times you came back so angry, yet unable to know the real cause, you broke me in ways I had never imagined possible. You turned my safe haven into my hell, my mind into its own prison, you broke my heart and now I must recoil to protect the shattered pieces that remain.
In the half-light Caleb looks like the shadow he's become. Hunched over the baggage he could be anybody, and in a way I guess he is. I took our bond for granted, and in my naivety I'd thought it unbreakable. But when that bus pulls away it won't only be broken, but shattered into fragments more numerous than the stars. I want to beg, plead, get down on my knees and tell him that his life here has meaning, that our love has meaning, but I know that face. It is the one he wears when his ears are closed and his mind has put up barriers to all new information. So no matter what I say it will only push him further away. So when I walk closer it is with a mask of contentment. I wish him well with the voice that came so naturally before his plan to do great things far away, it sounds like me but it isn't. I'm already in transition to become a person I never wanted to be. The bitterness is rising like bile into my mouth and when he's gone I'll have no reason to swallow it anymore.
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