what to do with a broken heart </3

the part where Piérre looses his papayas🥭

Have you ever wondered if anyone else could hear your heartbeat?

If they could hear the skip skip skip whenever that one person walked into the room?

When they flipped their midnight hair?

Hair that curled around her chin and
highlighted her heart-shaped face. 

Hair that you and she had taken turns braiding since you were 5 years old.

Freckles that littered her face like the plastic in our oceans.

Eyes the color of green swimming pools in mid-July.

Specifically the pools you spent your lives in.

The pool in which you both spent your childhood summers and created the Totally Epic Triple Layer Handshake Of Awesomeness.

The pool where we-we made fun of that one old guy who never ever remembered to put sunscreen on before he left the house and he looked like a giant walking Elmo, eyebrows tightly knitted together.

My stomach was always tightly knitted together.
Every second I was around you.

And now you're gone...

" Are you done with your pity party now, dude?"
     "José, not now man. Just let me grieve in peace."

I turned to my best friend of forever.
His almond-shaped eyes squinted together so tightly and cut through whatever shred of dignity I had left.

"Peter it has been five years man. Five whole years."
    
"Five years of absolute torture José! Five years of her deep dark hair, five years of her kiwi scent lingering on everything she touches, five years of her front two crooked teeth, five years of her laugh...oh God her laugh! That sound could end wars and cure cancer. It has been a collective 43 minutes and 17 seconds since I last replayed that sound in my head."

"Well, that's got to be some kind of record,"
José laughed bitterly.

Right now it may seem like I'm being over dramatic or that José is being apathetic, and both are true to an extent. The cause of our quarrel was a miss Audrey Thomson. Even her name was gorgeous. Spanning almost the entire range of the alphabet she could be anything and nothing and if she wanted to. It was one of those names, that she had to turn out to be something. Now I don't know if that something was absolutely drop-dead-breathtakingly-completely-gut wrenchingly-jaw-falling-on-the floor-and-shattering-into-a-million-pieces-beautiful, but she sure checked all those boxes and so much more. Her body was built like a rectangle, not a curve in sight, a quality that society has presented to the male species as appealing and unappealing, depending on the decade, but I just found that it added to her beauty.
She may have been a box, but her personality was a circle forever spiraling around and around me suffocating me with her two moles on her temples and long eyelashes.
I could probably swim in the amount of droll that has passed my lips just thinking about her; the metaphor disgusting but necessary to emphasize my point.
The point is that this thought spiral fantasy had been my reality for half of a whole decade.

"Dude, are you thinking about her eyes again?" José cut in.

"When am I not thinking about her eyes?!?" I sighed in a defeated tone.

This was pathetic, truly. Even though I managed to harbor feelings for the same human being for this long, I still somehow managed to get into relationships. My latest heartbreak, a miss Daisy Holmes, caught my eye in the crowd of an art museum approximately 5 months and 28 days ago and shattered my world completely exactly 4 months, two weeks 3 days and 33 minutes ago. We met at an art museum where her ash brown hair with lilac highlights glimmered something fierce. We both stopped to look at one of my favorite Picasso pieces, Le Rêve.
      
     "I have never stopped and really took in this painting," she said, the harsh rays bathing her dark chocolate skin. " I mean I have seen it a plethora of times,"