Tag Archives: heartbreak

Heathcliff

I just want you back.

I know you will break my heart again, but I am familiar with that pain now. I have grown to love the curves of its form, and the weight of it in my chest. How occasionally it stirs to beat against my ribs in rhythm with my heart, just to remind me it is still there.

My lungs have learnt how to breath around it now.

And though sometimes it still curls me into a ball, and opens the tear ducts of my eyes, it has become an old friend.

You will break my heart, but I am okay with that. I have lived in the ruins you’ve left behind for years, and found within the rubble that somehow, I still love you.

I still love you, and I can survive you.

Why would I risk being broken by anyone else, when I know that?

Ours has always been the type of love that books are written about. And I’d take Heathcliff over something ordinary any day.

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The Hardest Thing

I’ve learnt that the hardest thing for me to do is let someone go.

Three years and I’m still just as much in love with him now, as I was when I first met him. Three years, fighting to recover only to be reduced to that girl again, all passion and unflinching belief that we could overcome everything. Three years and it is my heartbeat that I hear when I press my ear to his chest.

We have both changed.

I am not as naïve anymore, and not so quick to let people in.

He has loved another, and grown wise enough to let her go, when he knew it was not enough.

And we learnt that, though nothing will change, it will never be enough. But try as we might, we will never be able to let go.

I know some of it is not wanting to say goodbye to the girl I was back then. So open and loving, so able to dive in head first without a second thought. So consumed with all she felt, no doubt or cynicism marring it.

And it is loneliness too. It is three years without someone to light that spark in me. Three years without someone making my blood burn in my veins. And once you know how that feels… It is hard to live without it.

But it is him as well.

He is more flawed than any man I know. Broken, with pieces that will never quite fit back together properly again. He is frustrating and impossible. Obsessive and on a pathway that will likely kill him.

But he burns brighter than anyone I have ever known. He is so alive, bringing the world into an almost painful intensity around him. I am drawn to his rawness, his ferocity for life and all it can bring. His blue eyes hold the world and he sees me in a way I’ve never been seen. He sees me.

And when he touches me… It is like he seeks to know every pore. It is gentle and deliberate. He does not rush. He has learnt my own body better than myself, and he adores every inch of it.

And when he leaves, he leaves me with words consuming me. Words that I must put down on paper, emotions too powerful within me to be left inside. He is my muse and my lover, and I find a trace of him in everything I write.

I wish he’d ask me to be his again, though both of us know what my answer has to be. I wish he would tell me that someday, somehow, we will find our way back to each other. And that I would wake every morning to his smile.

I wish that reassurance was still possible. That the knowledge it isn’t didn’t leave me in ruins, that it didn’t leave me barely able to breath, tears pouring down my face, gulping back sobs.

That it didn’t still break my heart.


The Saddest Thing of All

‘Do you remember what it was like to love him?’

Not really. Sometimes I find echoes of it in other people’s words, and there is a bittersweet moment of recognition. The ache is always strongest then.

I do remember thinking that being with him was like being in a dream though. One spun out of iron and gold. But I think I spent so long trying to forget him that I lost the way into those memories.’

‘Did you succeed?’

‘In forgetting him? No. Forgetting him would be like forgetting myself. He is woven inextricably into me now.’

‘If you could have done anything differently, what would it have been?’

‘I think everything played out the only way it could.
I always try and stay true to myself, and one of the benefits is that looking back I always know that I did what was right for me at the time.

Not necessarily the best thing. Or the smartest thing.

But what was right for me in that moment of time given all that I was feeling.

Maybe I could have voiced all the betrayal and anger and hurt I felt  more. Sometimes everything I left unsaid lies heavy on my chest.

It can be suffocating, knowing that he never truly saw the repercussions of his actions. I only ever let him see the surface of what his cheating did to me, and he should have seen it all.

But even that… Even that I don’t think I would really change.’

Why not?’

‘Because there are no quick fixes to healing. I may regret not saying anything now, but I think I would have regretted doing so more.

He would never have understood anyway.’

‘Would you say anything to him now, if you could?’

‘What can you say to someone you never knew?

No. I have nothing to say to him anymore. And I think that’s the saddest thing of all.’


Everything

Maybe we hold on to our heartbreaks to just feel something.

Maybe we let them back into our lives because beautiful chaos is better than nothing.

Or maybe those are excuses to not let go of something that once meant everything. Of something that still does mean everything, even when it shouldn’t.