heartbreak is a very strange thing.
it's when it first happens, blood red and raw pink, and i'll cry really hard on the firm bed that's good for your back but terrible for times like these. i'll cry so hard that my heart wracks out sobs violently, making my body shudder like the wheezing air conditioning unit by the window that's more than double my age but stronger than i am.
and a week later, when it is a smarting purple; when my friends think i'm starting to get over it when they're able to drag me out of the house, because i'm smiling hesitantly but finally and i'm making soft-voiced, easy jokes but really, i'm far, far away; so far that the stars envy my distance but laugh at my lack of brilliance. in fact, i am dull as my grandfather's unshined work boots as he tells me, "you're fine. it'll only hurt a little while."
and six months later- a scabbed-over brown, when i'll break down crying when i clean the house, trying to scrub away the memories stained on the walls and imprinted on the tile, when i find the remnants of your sunflower seeds still embedded in the couch beneath the cushions.
and a year later, when it is a timid peach. when i can say your name without my voice cracking and tears springing to the corners of my eyes. when i can smile, and it's nothing compared to the sun, but almost synonymous to the moon. it's when i realize suddenly one day when you spontaneously come to mind that i'm over it; i'm not completely fixed, but i'm getting there-
that is heartbreak.
i have realized that it is not one color, but many. what a strange, terribly common thing.
YOU ARE READING
the shepherd's sword
Random[the things we dare not say aloud] the walls have faces, you know. the angels do not.
