Wreckage of the Heart
She sat quietly in the dark staring at the screen, there were so many things she wanted to say. There are things that she’s held in her heart for too long, for years. Emotion, deep and dark, overtaking her like a blanket. As comforting as it is, it slowly suffocates her.
The blinking cursor waits patiently. Teasing. Taunting. Mocking.
As the words explode onto the white pages before she knows there’ll never be a time that he’ll see them. Never in her life will he know what’s written as her fingers fly over the keys. Hundreds, thousands, and the more they flow like a river flows toward the ocean, so does her tears. They follow the path down her cheeks as she bares her heart.
He’s no longer there, he never was. The pain, the agony–it’s blinding, suffocating, just like the love. With a heart filled to the brim she held it all for years. One after the other. But he never returned.
As the air gets harder to find, more difficult to swallow she stops. The Goddamn blinking cursor still taunts her. His face mocks her from a photo she’s held onto for so long. It’s in the corner, saved, with corners curled and color faded, but she’ll never let it go. The only keepsake of him. Her love.
Her hands tremble as the words slowly start tumbling again, like rain drops that find their way to the ground, so does the pieces of her heart. Each shard piercing. Each crumbled bit falling to the cold concrete floor. And when it hits, it shatters once more.
Thousands of pieces mock her. Unfortunately, the heart wants what it wants. There’s no turning back. There’s no stopping it. There isn’t even reprieve from the pain. So she goes on another day, and another after that. A smile plastered on her face. A kind word to everyone she meets. Although, none of those strangers see beneath the surface.
They cannot see the wreckage of the woman who died the day he walked out the door. Hidden from the world. From prying eyes. She’s strong, she’s independent and she made it on her own. Who is she? Do you know her?
Copyright © Dani René