Rose Tinted Glasses

Heartache.

It's not something that only follows a heart break.
It's really just a visceral reaction, far more common than you'd think—
Irrespective of your heart health.

I've never lost any pieces of my heart to doubt, death or duty.
But I've felt it, oh so clearly.
In all the people that I love, alone.

Fortunate are those, whose rejections are clear, not bounded by ambiguity—
And so are they, whose intimate vulnerability gets rewarded in kind.

Lost in the midst of these extremes, is the grey unknown;
Home to the unaware, the blind, the ignorant, and well, me. The ever hopeful.

A crack in the system, and the delusion shatters.

The vague wrecking pain pulling me under;
My breath tearing through painfully—
A lump in the throat, is it nausea? Or a cry waiting to be released?
The dragging, in the pits of my belly,
The glaring awareness of the tingling down my legs;
The sudden drying of my mouth.

The urge to be held in a fetal position;
Or of that, to be obliterated out of existence.

Because it's a relentless clawing from inside me—
I try to free myself from this terrible weight.
The inevitable constriction of every muscle fiber transfixes me in place;
Unable to move.

Unable to scream.

The mind really is an unforgiving, cruel thing—
Attaching itself to exactly those that are bound to be taken away.
And then?
It all falls on the heart,
To turn mountains over— in an attempt to heal the thousand lacerations on itself;
Cast solely by the mind and its follies.

So here I sit—
Cradling my bloodied, wounded little heart;
In all its naivete, and compassion.

Always hoping— the next time, I will be kinder to it.
Already apologising for the way I'll just cut it all up in love, yet again.

P.S. Good thing— I now know, how to suture it up decently enough.