The Place Where Broken Hearts Go h.s.

Chapter 1: Sempiternal

Sempiternal: (adjective) long lasting or eternal

I lay my head back on the cool grass, and drag a cigarette to my lips. I slowly exhale the lavender smoke, and it swirls in the air around me. I ignore the burning urge to cough.

The golden sun sinks in the sky, bringing night in its absence. I welcome the chill of the summer air as I breathe in my cigarette smoke. It slows my breathing to a controlled rate. I feel controlled. And calm. And also vivacious and a bit insane.

"You know," my best friend Isabelle breaks me from my thoughts.

"You need to scream," she tells me.

I laugh brokenly, dizzy from the smoke. "Why is that?" I ask her.

"Because you have a lot of anger inside of you. Plus, I think it would be funny. And possibly more helpful for your body than smoking away your problems."

"You mean healthy," I correct her, sitting up in the grass.

"Yes healthy too. But who cares about that?" She grins at the sky.

I gaze at her silhouette. Isabelle appears magical in the twilight air, with her blonde hair spread over the grass like a lions mane. Her blue eyes twinkle with happiness that always seems to be there. Her chest rises and falls in a steady motion.

She turns to look at me, as she senses my eyes on her. Another grin appears on her face. "What?" she asks me.

I shake my head slowly. "Nothing. I was just thinking."

"About what?" Isabelle presses.

She sits up, and brushes through her hair with her fingers.

"That you're magical."

Isabelle bursts into laughter, and she takes the cigarette from my fingers. She puffs on it, and I envy the way she doesn't have to cough.

"The magic of smoking, my dear," She corrects me.

I lay back down in the soft grass, and twist the glades with my fingers. In the absence of the cigarette, I feel lost again. And even though Isabelle is watching me intently, I can't seem to help the unwelcome tears that fog my eyes. I feel weak. I feel sad. And angry and a bit tipsy.

"Hey," Isabelle says softly reaching to hold my hand in hers.

"It's okay," She smiles at me.

She gives my hand a squeeze. Her blonde hair is blowing in the wind, and I smell her strawberry shampoo. And even in the absence of the cigarette, I still think Isabelle might be magic.

"Here, come on," She pulls me to my feet, and I push my ratty hair behind my ear.

"What are we doing?" I ask.

"We are going to the top of that hill."

Isabelle begins to walk, and I wander aimlessly behind her feeling like a lost puppy. She grabs my hand, sensing my thoughts like she always seems to be able to do.

I breathe in the clean air as we walk. It cleanses my lungs and my head from the fogginess the cigarette has brought me.

The air stings my eyes, and the grass hugs my bare feet.

We walk up the hill in silence, me sniffling every once and a while. I hate myself for being so weak. And I envy Isabelle for being so strong.

I am thankful for her. Not just for her kindness, or her friendship, but her. I am thankful that such a perfect, kind human being exists in this messed up world of mine. "Thank you Isabelle," I blurt.

She offers a small knowing smile.

"Here, come here, close your eyes," she instructs.

Isabelle places her hand that is not intertwined with mine over my wet, traitor eyes.

I continue to walk blindly. The only things I allow myself to feel are the smell Isabelle's strawberry shampoo, the softness of her skin, and the wholeness of her breathing. I compare it to the shallow way that I breathe, like there is a hole inside of me. Perhaps there is.

"Okay, ready?" Isabelle asks as we stop walking.

I just nod.

She removes her hand from over my eyes.

In front of us, the city is illuminated. All I can see are lights, reflecting from metallic skyscrapers. Outlined buildings glow in the black sky. The sight is brilliant and golden. It takes the air from my lungs, and I gasp at the beauty momentarily forgetting where I am or even who I am.

Instead I focus on the little cars stuck in traffic, and the way their headlights dance off of the earth. And the purple shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, and the radiance of it all.

"Scream," Isabelle instructs me.

I still don't take my eyes from the wondrous sight as I harbor in a deep breath, and open my mouth. I shove the air back up my throat, and scream loudly until I run out of air and my throat is on fire.

We look onto the city for five minutes.

"How do you feel?" Isabelle asks me.

"I feel sempiternal," I whisper.

Isabelle laughs musically next to me, but I don't tear my eyes away from the New York skyline.

"Meaning?" She questions me.

"Meaning I feel everlasting." I tell her.

"Good. Then let's be everlasting together."