You never think of pain like that. Never consciously at least. I could never have imagined that this kind of mental torture exists, neither am I pleased on being proven wrong. It’s weird, it’s very present, and it gnaws at your bones. Funny how human beings can be so dependent on one another. Funny how they go about their days so normally and one fine day, they’re incapable of doing anything at all.
I sound like I’m dying. But I’m not. Considering the situation, I don’t even know if it’s a good thing.
Heartbreaks are real, raw, and funny.
And we’re all idiots. Inspite of knowing that the only reason we breathe and live is because this tiny little organ loyally beats inside our chest, we choose to give it to somebody else. We betray the only thing that cares to keep us alive, literally cut it out, and hand it over like it never belonged to us.
To someone who promises you an eternity, gives you love, and then tosses your heart back at you when it’s too much to take, too much to bear.
There are those who experience it for the first time, and then there are those who go through it, get out of it, and repeat it.
Against all odds, against hope itself, you neatly fold your heart between a paper plane, and let it go. The very same heart that you nurtured and looked after when it was returned in a condition from where it seemed like there was no coming back. Or so you thought.
Yet again, the person you thought the world of, holds it close, and before you can even think, drops it.
You find yourself lying on the floor, in what you think is a sea of tears, hugging your knees. You look very small now, just like you did when you were in your mother’s womb. You know nothing but you feel everything. You’re all those things you thought you’ll never be.
You’re surviving, not living.
You close your eyes, you open them, but it’s all the same.
You wonder how you’ve become so ugly. You wonder what did you do to deserve this. Your mind gives you new answers and innumerable possibilities every time.
But you’re a wreck.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Love is twisted in ways more than infinity can ever hold. It’s a vicious cycle – ruthless, remorseless, and heartless at its best. Still we willingly give fuel to it. We air the fire that burns us to the ground and we rise again to offer yet another part of ourselves. Only to lose it.
Only to never find it again.