When you have a broken heart, you’ll forget who you are. You’ll lose yourself in the hurt of all the gruesome shards that are stabbing against your lungs and stomach; you’ll be consumed by the sickly feeling you get each time you move and the cuts sting and widen deeper. You’ll cry and beg, and wish you were a different person, a more loveable person, anyone but you. You’ll become obsessed with pitying yourself, intoxicated by this pathetic self-centeredness.
You’ll lie in bed all day and sob. Every little thing will cause your eyes to water. You’ll force yourself up to grab a bite to eat and with each bite, another tear, another reminder of all the things done that tore you limb from limb until you were left this awful, crying shell. One minute you’re Superman, and the next you’re stepping on Kryptonite left feeling weak and sore.
You want to believe that everything happens for a reason, but you get to thinking that everything happens because you’re worthless.
When you have a broken heart, you won’t know how to put it back together. You’ll be screaming inside everywhere you go, and while you’re smiling at all the people around you, telling them you’re doing fine and blah blah blah – inside, it’s all aflame.
When you have a broken heart, you’ll overlook the fact that your heart’s been broken, and more importantly, unbroken, before. You won’t remember that you’re a Wolverine; that you will heal in time by doing almost nothing. You’ll be oblivious to the fact that love has come and gone in your life because you’re blinded by your current pain, just like every pain before had blinded you, and made you completely self-indulgent. When you have a broken heart, even if you don’t know it, bloody sinews are reaching out for one another. Somewhere inside your pounding chest, they’re intertwining, fusing slowly and meticulously; you are being put back together every day, and you barely even know it.