Heartbreak is so strange. At first it's this unstoppable hurt and you sit on couches, staring at nothing. You feel numb until you talk about it and then you cry until you're done. You buy another beer and sit back down again. That's the beginning.
For me, at first, I felt nothing. Kinda like a hollow buzz with some relief and disbelief. I said, you're heartbroken, don't try and do anything, just be broken. But I wasn't feeling anything. So I baked. Muffins and bread and cookies, anything to put my hands deep in dough and churn out something nourishing and time consuming. More salt, more sugar, more cinnamon.
But it took the voices of a few to crack what I was feeling. I had said, I'm okay, it's sad, but I'm okay. But then I heard her voice and she said, I'm proud of you. And I broke. I sobbed for what had been, what wouldn't be, and what was now.
Then I felt like this rotting bird had moved into my chest. I distracted myself with friends and parties and drinks, another lover. But when that was gone and it got quiet again, I noticed. The bird. That sick feeling. Where I just shuddered and said, this sucks, this blows, I don't want this. Heartbreak, I can't believe it's in me.
I had said, if we break each other's hearts, if we break up, I'm putting everything in a box (time capsule) and I'm hiding it away because I can't stand to look at the mark of love all over me. Now I'm looking at empty boxes, all around my room. And things, my things, your things. You marked me with your things.
Heartbreak is strange. I do what I've always done. I see friends, I ride my bike, I feel uncomfortable sometimes and welcomed other times. I love my family and the sun and the smell of certain flowers. But then, all of a sudden, it rushes back in. I'm hurting. I'm like me, normal me, but heartbroken. A small, significant fact.
