The History Of A Heartbreak

The History of Heartbreak: How It Came To Be

A rip in the space of us.

The net that you said would catch me, had a promise sized hole in it.

I fell after you, but life didn't catch me like you said it would.

Because the cold coffee still sits on the counter and the dying flowers still grace the counter

and

I don't throw the flowers out because it reminds me of me,

slowly dying

and

I don't make new coffee because the coffee reminds me of me,

a cold soul that nobody wants.

I don't clean up the floor and the laundry stays piled.

I don't clean the floor because I don't feel clean

and

the clothes stay folded because when you come to get them, I won't have to bother opening a drawer.

I haven't swept the front steps since you threw the bottle.

The rug that covers the hall still stays un-replaced.

Because maybe the broken shards remind me of my broken bones

and

the rug, perhaps reminds me of the way my heart is frayed

and

so the house stays the same.

The lights stay off.

The candles are cold in the drawer.

The sweater warm from constant contact.

My bed is lonely.

My heart is rough.

My soul is broken and you are gone.

And maybe I will wake up tomorrow and you will knock at my door

and

say that maybe you really didn't mean to throw the bottle or even to throw the plate and that you really didn't mean the cruel words

and

do you know what I would do?

I would slowly close the door.

Because even if you said that you didn't really mean those words.

I am no longer stupid.