Heartbreak is like a world made miniature
every tender trying detail significant to its structure
and all the open space of the world outside, an affront to the pride that lives in the pain.
This heart is haunted by sharp fragments of memories and images:
The white raspberries that grew by your house I would taste on summer nights that I walked to you.
Pieces of your home decorated by my love but enjoyed by strangers eyes now.
The unlit windows down the street.
An afternoon by the river.
A dog you now live with that I don't know.
Whispered sensuality on the only flight we took together.
My body cold now where your touch once warmed it.
Heartbreak is like the closeness of a dream
wrapped in love, like the dream, all is tangible with no thought of waking or what comes after
until the rude interruptions of jobs and alarm clocks hurdle you into a realm of fog and desperate grasping for what was.
Your life is growing unfamiliar to me.
But like the vivid remaining fragments of a dream maybe heartbreak too fades into blurring memory?
Slowly replaced by the daily monotony of tasks and meals to be made and the things we tell ourselves are more 'real', more reliable, harder.
I don't know yet what heartbreak becomes when its not longer alive
but maybe in time I'll rise and forget some things and, whether hardened or softened, go on.
every tender trying detail significant to its structure
and all the open space of the world outside, an affront to the pride that lives in the pain.
This heart is haunted by sharp fragments of memories and images:
The white raspberries that grew by your house I would taste on summer nights that I walked to you.
Pieces of your home decorated by my love but enjoyed by strangers eyes now.
The unlit windows down the street.
An afternoon by the river.
A dog you now live with that I don't know.
Whispered sensuality on the only flight we took together.
My body cold now where your touch once warmed it.
Heartbreak is like the closeness of a dream
wrapped in love, like the dream, all is tangible with no thought of waking or what comes after
until the rude interruptions of jobs and alarm clocks hurdle you into a realm of fog and desperate grasping for what was.
Your life is growing unfamiliar to me.
But like the vivid remaining fragments of a dream maybe heartbreak too fades into blurring memory?
Slowly replaced by the daily monotony of tasks and meals to be made and the things we tell ourselves are more 'real', more reliable, harder.
I don't know yet what heartbreak becomes when its not longer alive
but maybe in time I'll rise and forget some things and, whether hardened or softened, go on.
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