Every emotion can be expressed as a poem or a story. Yet sometimes, I find myself at a loss of words. That is when I experience the pains that had made its mark on my heart in the past. That is when I understand what a broken heart means. That is when I imagine happiness as a tease mocking my hurtful heart.
Those times I remind me to let go. The ‘intelligent me’ makes sensible arguments to help the ‘hurt me’ to get over the hurt. But does it work that way? To let go, I should be holding on to something. There isn’t anything. Only wishes and hopes and if onlys are ruling my heart at that particular moment when my heart breaks into pieces, the pieces of which prickles my very being.
Some wounds are here to stay. Some scars never fade. Some hearts are broken forever.
A broken heart