“Standing alone on the edge wondering if anyone could ache as much as I do.”

I am my own universe.

Its been years or maybe just months any day without you feels like eternity.

I bent for you until I broke, I wept for you until I woke, I cared for you but now I won’t.

I’ve tried staying where its safe far away from the deep end. Only to find out people still drown in the shallow end.

you treat me like I’m expendable why is it so easy to let me go?

Letting go is not only okay it’s best.

There is nothing like the four walls of your arms wrapping around me when a storm is near.

I told myself – You’ve got this, Even though I don’t have it at all.

I feel everything to the bottom of its depth maybe its a gift, its probably a curse.

The outer part of me so cold like an armor impenetrable. The words you throw at me ricochet and hit you in the heart.

Shades of black intertwined in my being I try to see in color but darkness is all I’m seeing.

I still remember the first time I saw you, your aura radiated nostalgia of a time where I wanted something so much more than I wanted air.

I take for granted how much I love sad songs when I’m happy I forget how much they hurt when I’m broken.

Late at night I’m awake thinking. I’m afraid of what I’d do to be able to taste you again.

I’d rather be shot by a bullet than to be cut by your words. I’ll die cold on the pavement before I lie in the casket of your assurances.

I will be more than I was yesterday, even if that means I can’t take you with me.

Of course, in a novel, people’s hearts break, and they die and that is the end of it; and in a story this is very convenient. But in real life we do not die when all that makes life bright dies to us.

Brokenness is a beginning.

Broken before catching – a break.

To not be able to love the one you love is to have your life wrenched away.

Like a fractured bone in the ribs, the heart can be painfully heavy sometimes.

I guess you’re the bee and the stings all at once; By which I mean you’re the reason I wrap these tired bones around every aching thing.

Tear me open and I will bleed in your name. My heart aches from your absence, but in the aching and breaking is where my art is born.

Her heart was broken perhaps, but it was a small inexpensive organ of local manufacture. In a wider and grander way she felt things had been simplified.