I pick up the pieces, his and mine. I'm quite clumsy though, so I drop them. Some crash and break, others just become mixed up, its chaos, pandemonium, a complete mess. I try to put them together but they don't fit, somehow they all look the same. I try and try but it only makes it worse. I cut myself on a broken shard, its sharp slice and then a throbbing and stinging pain. "You have to be careful when trying to fix broken people." they said, "because if you’re not, you can cut yourself on their broken pieces." I wasn't careful enough and now I was to pay the price.
I took a chance with him. I knew I could get hurt, that maybe it wasn't the right choice but still I chose to go ahead. I'm worse off than I was before him. I was already broken, a few cracks here, a few chips there, but now I've been left, completely shattered and barely alive. I hang on to the weak threads of hope, it does me no good. It hurts me more, slicing me deeper. I can't breathe, like a weight has been dropped on my chest, I feel helpless, defeated. The tears roll down my cheeks as I try to choke back the sobs. I don't want to be found like this, broken and dying inside.
I miss the feeling of him, his strong arms encircling me, I miss his warmth, his hugs. The way he kissed me; sweet and gentle, passionate and hungry or just plain silly, all of them showing me that he cared. I miss the movies and the interruptions during them. I miss his smile, his jokes and his laugh; deep and hearty but still it held a tinkling quality, like a sweet melody. I miss the way he looked at me, like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on or the hungry looks that said "I want you so bad right now". I miss the way he touched me, so tender yet still playful and experienced. I miss the sound of his voice, deep and rich but soft, velvety, like a blanket I could wrap myself in. I'm sure that even if he read the most goriest of tales, it would still sound like a beautiful poem or song. I think that, most of all, I just miss him.
