I swear I’ve gone through this before. Heartbreak. But it’s an experience new every time. My chest aches as if someone has blasted a hole into its very center, throbs so strong they leave me struggling for oxygen. My heart clenches and let’s go, a repetitive cycle of its own hurt, reminding me every time of its presence. I am not dead yet, I realize. For at this very moment, that’s what I wish for. For my existence to vanish into thin air, for my body to turn into wisps of smoke and dust, to float aimlessly into the void with no essence of space and time. A place where my purpose is to exist just for the sake of existing and nothing else. At least the pain does not follow me here.
I sigh as my head hits the pillow and breathe in the faint but familiar scent of citrus, a reminder of a shower taken days ago. I turn onto my back and stare into the endless darkness of my room, a reflection of what my heart is filled with. At least whatever is left of it anyway. I feel the pieces move with every intake of air, and figure I should at least tape them back together. So, I gather every inch of energy left and begin to pick the smithereens strewn within the grave. The shards are sharp and my fingers bleed, the drops gushing into the deep hollows, but I continue. I continue. And I continue. In the end, this is all I can do. All I have done. And all I will do, all over again.