Women with Broken Heart (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Pain rips through my heart. Sharper than any sword. A hole, larger than earth. Sometimes, I hurt even more than I could imagine, when I see you walking by, holding her hand. Her laughter in your ears, her fingers running through your hair. The closeness you share in the shadows of the night. Getting out my photo albums, thumbing through our pictures, my fingers caress your lips, remembering the words whispered softly to me, sending shivers down my spine. Somewhere you are out there with her, a place you used to take me. Touching on a picture of the two of us lying on the beach under the moonlight. Breezes blowing over our bodies, hands touching hands, words promising we will be together for ever. Carefully removing the picture from the album, I study faces, fingers forming around them. Suddenly, I remember, those terrible words spoken to me. I don’t love you anymore. I have tried, but I love another. He took a knife and slashed my heart in half. Tears streaming of blood as my heart is being pumped of life. I fell to the floor, holding the picture to my heart. A part of me refusing to acknowledge what had happened. My body shivered. Sobs could be clearly heard. Why……..why did this have to happen…….I love him……..The sobbing got louder, tears falling, until there were no tears to fall. I fell asleep, right there on the floor, holding the picture close to my heart. When I awoke, my eyes were red and swollen. My heart was bruised, and I felt weak all over. I stood up, and walked over to the photo album, and lifting the sealed pictures out of the album, took each one, and laid them in a pile beside me. I closed the album and put it back on the bookshelf. I went to the kitchen, and opening the lid on the trash can, I briefly glanced at each picture one more time, then tearing them in pieces, I watched them fall, scattering in all directions. I turned and walked away, never looking back again.
Who I am 