Heart Broken, Heart Burning

What is...

I used to think I knew what heartbreak was. The pain. The loss. The adjustments. The moving forward. I used to think I'd been through it all, having had my fair share of relationships. Looking back, I've always been in one. Practically moving from one person to the next, no real time to breathe. To take in the feelings. To recognize the feelings of what it really meant to not be with someone any longer. It's how it's always been for me. Not necessarily because I wanted a relationship so quickly after the other, it just happened. Like all things do.

No. I never experienced heartbreak before. Nothing like this. It's only been a couple of months - 6 to be exact. Some would say that it's been enough time. Some would say I shouldn't still be held up on him. It has been 6 months. But no. The longer time goes by, the more I feel it. The heartbreak. The unbridled hurt, no, suffering. The memories. The complete emptiness. The bitter loneliness. The knowledge of the fact that he's already moved on.

Broken. Pain. Longing. Emptiness. Loneliness. Torture.

The suffering is as its' definition. Painful. Constant. Suffering because we're no longer a relationship together. Heart throbbing every second of every day. Only seeming to grow worse over time. Almost as if it's slowly sucking the life out of me. Pushing roughly against my rib cage. Knocking the breath out of me. Stealing it away until I'm choking. Until I feel as though my heart will burst or stop beating altogether. Because of the pain burning through the veins, the bloodstreams, the vessels. Until my heart no longer exists. There's just an empty spot where it used to sit. One that still pulsates the ache. The agony.

Pain. Longing. Emptiness. Loneliness. Torture.

The memory fuels the suffering. A neverending reel of all the happy moments we had. His goofy smile. His beautiful eyes. His horrible jokes. His affinity for snapbacks. His pride in his old beat up car. His frustrating stubbornness. His terrible taste in movies. His affectionate touch. His gentle caress. His loving gaze. Everywhere I look, no matter where I am, what time it is, how long it's been, everything reminds me of him. Of how it used to be. Of every good moment we've shared. Of moments that I had forgotten about before. I even remember his family. How they were so welcoming. How his sister was having a baby and she wanted me to be there. How his mother always used to say she loved me. How his father always joked he liked me better than him. It's as though my mind is taunting me. Bringing back all of these beautifully bittersweet memories. Showing me how he used to talk to me, used to tease me, used to love me.

Longing. Emptiness. Loneliness. Torture.

That's where the emptiness comes through. Like the place where my heart is supposed to be, is nothing but empty space. As though I myself, am nothing but an empty space. A forgotten memory. Something to be replaced. Something to be thrown away, tossed aside. Like I don't matter at all. Like the love we had shared no longer accounts for anything. The emptiness lurks in the recesses of my mind. Prowls in the dark corners of rooms. Hovers over my sleeping body to pry on me even in my dreams. It stalks me everywhere I go. It slows me down. Makes my mind sluggish. Rips the fun out of every little thing I used to enjoy. Whispers how it'll always be there, creeping. Never letting me rest. It's a monster. Something I can't shake off. Can't face because it already has a grip on me. It's already won at its sick game. And I know it has. I just let it. Because I don't have the energy to let go.

Emptiness. Loneliness. Torture.

Which is why I'm always lonely. Constantly wearing his old clothes I still have, as though he's still there with me. Nagging me to wash them so he can wear them. Always gazing at my phone, hoping, praying that maybe, just maybe, I'll hear from him. That I'll receive more than a one-word answer. That he'll... he'll want me again. That instead of being states away, he'll be beside me. That I'll wake up in his arms again. That he'll want to kiss me again. That he'll want to hold my hand again. That he'll want to laugh with me again. That he'll want to bicker with me again. That he'll want to fight about the stupidest things again. That he'll want to love me again.

Loneliness. Torture.

But he won't. Because he's already moved on. Told me, he's moved on. He's going out. Going on dates. Dancing with other girls. Letting other girls touch him. Talking in length with other girls. Opening up about himself to other girls. Starting to like other girls. Holding other girls' hands. Paying for other girls' food. Having movie marathons with other girls. Moving on. Moving forward. Moving farther away from me. And I know. I know he's happier, and it's tearing me up inside. Engulfing me in despair knowing that I won't ever be able to move on. To be happy with anyone but him.

Love.

During our relationship I was scared, afraid, terrified, of love. Of loving him. Of getting in too deep and not knowing what would happen in the long run. We talked about it. We argued about it. We screamed about it. We fought each other every time it was brought up. He was so quick to fall. And quick to pick himself back up.

I was different. It was slow, like a soft spark in a pile of twigs. Puffing out smoke to show its existence before slowly burning its way through the twigs, snapping them into pieces, emerging from the thick of it in a blazing fury.

He was the gasoline to my fire. How he would hint he wanted children one day with me. How he said he wanted to grow old with me. How he wanted to talk to me about what kind of house we would have. How he said he already had a stone picked out for an engagement ring. How he said he would wait. Because he loved me. He would wait until I was ready. But I already knew. I knew when we went to his sister's wedding, in the dress he had picked out for me. I knew when I gazed at him up at the altar from my spot in the pew as his sister walked down the aisle and the piano played. I knew when he looked at me, tears in his eyes. I knew because I could see it in his expression, and I was so sure he could see it in mine.

Love.

It was as though a hole had opened up beneath me. I was helpless as I fell. Deeper and deeper into the darkness. The depths where I knew I'd never be able to climb out. I knew when I started wishing we could be together until we were older. That I would never have to let go of his hand. Because I knew I belonged at his side. No matter what happened to the both of us. I had even planned what I was going to say at our wedding. He had seen me in a wedding dress once, and he looked at me in a way that I saw all the grooms look at their brides. I dreamt about wearing that wedding dress one day, for him. For us. I was so happy to have someone like him in my life.

Love.

Even now, the hole hasn't closed. I haven't reached the bottom. I've only realized the shadows that are reaching out to tug and pull at me. How they do so with the intent to hurt, to tear me apart as I fall. And I let them. I don't want to forget. I don't want to stop falling. Because underneath the void that's been building up inside me since he left, that fire still burns. Bright. Angry. Blazing. Never flickering.

I told him when we began dating that I didn't really know what love was. I wanted him to be the one to show me. He is it for me. He is my soulmate.

And now I know what love is. It's suffering. It's suffocating. It's an eternal flame. An undying presence that makes itself known in every second of the day. It's like a disease, spreading through every pore in your body until it consumes you. It's a small ripple in a calm ocean, spreading slowly, gradually building until it becomes a tidal wave that never seems to end. Even if the initial object that started the ripple is now gone, the wave still grows, fanning out and drowning anything in its path.

Him.

He was my rock that started the ripple. His adoration was the momentum that made the ripples slowly grow into mounds. His love was the force in those mounds becoming waves. And his departure was what made those waves a tsunami.

Him. Him. Him...

There are no words in the English language that could possibly describe what I feel for him. How I feel now that I can no longer hold him close to me. How it feels knowing that one day, he'll marry another girl. The unanswered prays to God - or anyone/anything who bothers to listen - that I would give anything, everything, up just to be his again. The only words that I can use, that I desperately wish I can tell him;

I love you, Tommy.