Owner of a Broken Heart

“What do you say to someone that you haven’t already said a thousand times?”

Come back, I love you, I’ll do whatever it takes, I can’t live without you, you’re the one; it’s all I can seem to hear myself think anymore. The owner of a broken heart, once again, the architect of my own pain.

The most perfect set of eyes, incredibly soft skin, and lips to die for, she was physically magnificent to me. The way that her body curled to the shape of mine in our sleep, the way she looked with my shirt on, the way her head tucked into the curve of my arm when I embraced her, and how it felt when she ran her finger nails along my skin, it was sensory overload, and now all imprinted in my psyche. Our thoughts of common things were often the same, and our sense of humor in sync. Yet, the deep wounds created over time were so that wiping them away appeared impossible, or incapable of being swept away. What do you say to someone that you haven’t already said a thousand times? And how do you convince the person that what you are saying comes from your heart, and not the part of you that fears losing them forever?

I miss you

Day after day, article after article, I consistently fill my brain with new information; some making things less obscured, and others creating a palpable and urgent toxic aching pain. I never felt this sort of pain before, and so I don’t know what to make of it. Does it mean that I held stronger feelings for her, more so than any other? The dissolution of our relationship is not just the end of something tangible; that’s stating the obvious. The frequent thoughts begin to break apart, and the idea of what could have been slowly begins to run like water color. The loss of the idea of creating that family, of having that future, of even spending a lifetime of holding hands everywhere we go, it’s where the real pain is. When choosing that person, we often force ourselves to envision a future with them, and so in the loss, we are forced to accept that the vision becomes lost too.

Here’s the thing: we go into relationships with a vague idea of what to anticipate from the other personality. We try to be true to what we know, and present the other with what we think is a sufficient balance between being ourselves and responding to their needs. We want to give them what they need, without losing a sense of our own compass. After all, it was that very compass that made us the right person for them to choose in the beginning. Over time, remaining true to our own needs before the other’s, it begins to cause the walls to crumble, and eventually, if both sides cannot seem to work together through the differences, the relationship collapses. When it ends, we are in a completely different position, our compasses reshaped. Knowing what I now know, I could have avoided the fuck-ups. Knowing what I now know, I could have foreseen how she would feel about certain things. But neither her or I have that skill or exceptional foresight, and so we could not have known what to give or give up, before we gave up.

I’ve lost her, and now face something new. But I refuse to lose sight of the positive aspects of who we were, or give up hope that the universe is going to realign us.

I don’t know if you’ll ever come back, but I want you to…because I love you