A Letter to a Hurting Heart

Pain. 

That’s what you left me with. 

It was this overwhelming numb sensation. It started in my heart and spread to my gut. It started in my heart and spread into my brain. It didn’t stop, didn’t end, grew less little by little.

You always said you were better with a bow, but that doesn’t explain the daggers in my stomach whenever I think of you. Doesn’t explain the scars you left in my heart, the way you slashed my trust to pieces and left it to blow in the wind. Going around in the empty space where you used to be. 

Space.

What you didn’t respect. 

Empty space. A lonely place. Your laugh is the wind that howls through the hole in my heart. Your smile, like a moon-white Cheshire cat grin, like a waxing moon, a curving scar, casting everything in a different light.

All the words you said, promises made, lies told, jokes choked out through chuckles. I put them in a jar, I shoved them in a box, I locked them in a chest, where I hear them rattling around every day. 

You’re my constant chorus, howling noise, painful background anthem, ever steady reminder, that one song that always reminds me of you; but I still put it on my playlists. I still listen, because I miss you, I miss the way you made me feel special, seen, loved…

Fake love. 

That’s what you’re feeling. 

The happy chemicals and hormones that rush to your brain and make you feel like you’re in love. Because- yay! The girl you like likes you back and you have something special together! But it’s not love. What you’re feeling is an overdramatized emotion that culture blows up until it's love and that’s automatically what you feel for someone. Love is deep, powerful, strong. It isn’t broken like we are. It comes after prayer, reflection, a hardship weathered together, most importantly: time. Love comes after time. 

Time and space, you didn’t give me either. You didn’t allow yourself time or space. Look at where you are now. 

Words. 

You gave me so many words.

You wrote me words. Emails, letters, documents. I still have the emails, they jump out at me, I reread them sometimes. You said, “I miss you, so so much.” “I’m here for you.” “Are you okay?” 

I still have the letters. I read through all of them once. Then I ripped them up, put them back in the bag, and stuffed them behind some books. I want to burn them in a bowl, scatter the ashes to the winds, let go more than I already have. Leave you behind as much as I can. More than I already have.

Lies. 

You filled my head.

You filled my heart with lies. You berated my ears, and tormented my brain. You tricked me into believing you. I felt sorry, I felt horrible, I would’ve done anything to help. Now I definitely wouldn’t say the same, because you killed my feelings in all kinds of ways. You turned my life around in all kinds of ways. 

I could be grateful for how you screwed me over, because of how I grew, how I learned, how I matured, how I changed. I am in some ways. But most of the time I want to yell at you when I see you next, when you try to talk. Part of me wants to hug you when I see you next. Just explain my side and forget everything you did to me. 

Shattered. 

Glass thrown on the floor. 

A crystal vase, an expensive tumbler, a trophy flung to the ground. Shattered, broken, destroyed completely. Why are feelings so fragile? Hearts so delicate? Trust so brittle? I thought you were strong, but I never wanted to feel that directed at me. I thought you were strong but I guess I was wrong, only someone who was weak would say and do this.

Caring. 

That's what I can’t do now.

I know that you think I don’t feel the same, and in some ways it’s true, but all I can think about before I fall asleep is you. It kills me, because I’m trying my best to get over you, am I failing? Am I not supposed to stop feeling this way? But, we would never work again, so that doesn’t make sense. Sometimes I wish I could stop feeling, just stop completely, but I’ve felt numb before and I don’t want to go back. Numb, gray, burnt toast, unflavored, flat, stale, white curtains in the wind, an old empty house that’s been swept clean from top to bottom without a hint of personality left. Scrubbed, polished, waxed, vacuumed, mopped, swept, buffed, shined, clean. 

Spoiled. 

An entire semester. 

An entire playlist.

A type of pizza, a favorite restaurant, a book series. All spoiled, all ruined. Colored black and gray and blue, shades of sadness. Never to be heard, gone to, read, seen. Gone to the wind, to time. I’ll never be able to think of the beginning, end or middle, because you were there. A text here, a conversation there. A picture I have saved in my album, a group chat that you’re on that hurts to look at. 

(2 months later):

Healing. 

What I’ve finally achieved. 

Peace has come. Joy returned. I can say now that I hope you’re okay without faking it. I can say that I miss the idea of you, and not you yourself. I can say now that I want to meet someone else, that I hope you meet a girl who lights up your world. Maybe one day we’ll be able to talk, to reminisce and explain. But my heart is stuck in the past, and I still experience the pain. And I know you still feel the same, want me back and want friendship. And maybe someday, we’ll have that. Not for a while though. 

To everyone who thinks the pain will never end, that you’ll never heal, that scars will always stay. When you feel like you’ve reached the end, that you chose wrong, and when the guilt overwhelms you. Remember that it will end, it does get better. You’ll find someone new who’s even better, who will treat you right and you’ll heal and be happy again. I promise;)