Every time I reminisced about the past
and how, at last, I was broken,
never to be chosen to be loved,
I thought, alas, I will never be whole again.
You see, my heart, it leaped from my chest.
Instead of beating and pumping blood,
pumping life, through my veins,
it fell to the floor and was cracked and was
shattered and battered
and it began to wither, and I thought
my heart was no more and
never would it return to its rightful place,
the place where it was born.
And partly it was my fault,
thinking I could part with an extension of myself,
an essential part of me, a heart that could never leave.
A heart that kept beating and pumping, each
thumping bringing such pain, such desolation to me.
And in time, I began to realize that the pain
I had idealized to be so suffocating, so life changing, so heart breaking,
was nothing more than mourning for a
love once found,
a love now lost, a love whose weight has been lifted
from my shoulders.
And now that the mourning is over,
and the pain is gone and my heart has come from its
shattered state to a state of wellbeing, I have
found something greater, something bigger, something larger,
something worth holding on to, something worth fighting for.
This new love, much different from that of the past,
came unbidden to me, a reminder that
a broken heart, which may
harbor a dozen shards that cut like steel,
does not last forever.
But this new love, the one that
makes me happier, lighter, freer, a better version
of who I once was, this love,
will last for forever and a day.
