Tear me apart one more time

True story, as always

It used to seem odd to me that so many authors, be it of poems or novels or lyrics or even screenplays, when confronted with a character being broken-hearted or in some way love is involved...they so often use the term "tearing me apart". It rips me apart inside. My heart is shattered. I am a broken man now. My very core and being is torn. The whole "empty hollow insides and a jigsaw-puzzle-taped-together somehow still beating in your chest". The black thump of hearts shrouded in void and numbing pain.... As the river erodes its loving shore, so does love erode the heart. Not by acidic means or sneaky junk-food-in-your-arteries killing you so softly, no. Love can literally tear you to pieces! I never understood the actual reality in it before. Now I can see that face and hear the supposedly metaphoric heart-strings pulling themselves. I can smell certain things and feel a teeny shove against my spine, the void aching. I could walk outside and feel the wind rise against me, instead of putting my arms out to enjoy it, I would hug my arms close so it wouldnt blow right through me. We all know how much an open wound hates a cold breeze, right? And this was a gigantic hole. Like  3 shotguns triangulated over my torso would not have left as big a gap and maybe even hurt less. The tearing is not personified emotional pain, it is an auricular phenomenon I would love to try explaining. Alas even words fail me here. The act of truely hearing your heart shred itself, no its not love turning on you it is your heart reaching its bloody tendrils up and getting a good grip, then exerting all force upon itself, destroying so we wont have to feel what may be coming next. But what comes next, you may ask....Well we never know for sure. Most often we first learn to live with the convulsive thump-thud of a ragged heart struggling to abide so it may one day again flourish in its own heat of life. Sometimes time will heal. Some of us have fairy godmothers that worry about it for us. Others bury themselves so they if they simply have to feel it will be on their own terms and they wont have to think about why. Still others have taken a scenic route. Allowing the heart to rend itself and shrivel (never mind the icy shrines in your chest, they are just place-holders) so that it may grow again. But sad as it may be to love and lose and return to ones life, it is even sadder to love, lose and lose and lose and lose. And love still. Is the whole process worth it if when the heart comes back it remembers, even when we try to push that away?? Is it worth it if the heart re-grows with the same scars, the same memories?? Do we have any choice but to go through the process of tearing and ripping and shattering, no...and still we must deal with the same pains, even if they are just a miniscule echo of what once was?!! I know, I know. Life isnt fair. But it seems to me if we all know the cleaving agony that is heartbreak, why do we run after it? And why the hell hasn't someone made a nice little dagger-shaped pill to kill this stupid affliction called love!!

I 

am

sick

of

this

spasmodic

misery

Author's Note

I always like to know what you think: I know its long but is it worth reading the whole thing to you?