Category: Heartbreak
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And they lived
happilyever after.Only, theydidn’t…Because theyhad bills topay, and childrento grow,and laundryto do, andhouses tokeep tidy.And deadlinesto meet.And suppersto plan,and cook.And dishesto do… somanydishes. And somewherebetweenall of thesethings. Themagic seepedaway… slowly at first.A missedkiss,a cursory glance. Oneof them,may even havefelt thisloss of heat, of tenderness,and decidedto do… Nothing.Or perhapsthere was no actualdecision. Just life,the realness andthe grit.…
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When
they leave,they take a pieceof us withthem.To a placewhere itcan neverbe retrieved from. When theyleave,words arepointless aswe stand byhelplessly,steeped inunbearable pain. When they leave,we tellourselvesstories of neverever lovinganother dog. Everagain. When theyleave, wefeel shameat having letthem go, whilebeing brave forprotecting themfrom furthermisery. When theyleave, weblame ourselvesfor all theshould havesand could haves. When theyleave, wejust miss…
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Tell me
who theyare, so thatI can hurtthem. Tell mewho has hurtyour heartso that Ican make thembleed, a deep, stickyred. Me, the personwho does notbelieve in vengeance,and is exceedinglykind. This time,I already know thatkilling themwith kindnesssimply won’tdo. So instead,I will armmy stored rage.My wrath againstunjust authority.And they willsuffer. Ugh. If onlylife was this simple.And retributionwas this easy…
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Maroon
unlike T Swift,I despise it.Call it burgundy,oxblood, oreven garnet. See, this colourtakes me backto a darkplace.A place offear, hurt,abandonment,heartbreak,in fact, near-totalannihilation. And this wasmore than twentyyears ago,and the doer ofthe deeds islong gone.The scarsare mostly healed,and tattooed over.Yet.Burgundy hasthe uncannyabilityto bring itall back.Short, staccatoflashbacksof a horror moviewhich was oncemy life. The camera swayingBlairWitch-like,the fear tearing…
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When
the gremlinscome calling,they are scary, andcunning. They talk to us,in our own voices,knowing,we’ll believethe horrible thingsthey arethrowing around,their sole aimbeingtobask in oursorrow.They are gluttonsgrowing faton our fear,and shame,and the shadowsof ournot-good-enoughs. They prefer usweak,and small,and doubting.Oh howthey enjoythese things. And we canstay there. Hidingunder the bed,or in thecloset.Breathing hard,chest wetfrom our owntears. Or.We can simplycall…
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And tonight
he dreams and speaks in a language I don’t understand. I startle awake. Uncomfortable vulnerability flooding in. I already care too much about this man. My vested interest in his future and what makes his eyes twinkle with delight, being severe. I’m completely naked, and it scares me. My old pattern is to run away…
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It was the mention
of aftercare practices that finally does my head in. Practices so tender and even heartwrenching, that I’d just experienced for the first time, lapping them up unashamedly, only to fall back to earth hard and fast; unsteady, disorientated, sad. These were not our special things, contrary to what my naive, trusting heart had been telling…
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The only thing
wrong with that dress is that it’s not crumpled into a pile next to my bed. Every woman glows up beautifully under the keen eye of an eager admirer. And in that lies the rub, for not every admirer is upstanding and not every glorious woman’s heart has been sufficiently fed in her lifetime. So…
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You gave me
your heart to love, and to protect. My constant companion, the one I clung to above all others. You licked my tears, we walked, we ran, we snuggled, we snoozed. And I always knew that you were the one… The chances of soulmates being slim. I felt awe and wonder in your presence, a wise,…
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He cried
The person who I’d loved was still in there. Trapped. Behind the scar tissue, the fear, the anger, the broken dreams and could-have-beens. Go well, person who once was mine. Find joy and contentment. Relief and release. ~Lu