a/n: in a few hours I write all three if these in small bursts, in this order. my heartbreak spectrum I suppose. part one is fiction
Part 1: last night if you saw…
I stood outside your window with a new lover last night. our hands held tight around each other, we weathered the elements and changed our colors. and we stood outside for hours throwing rocks up into the air, and watching them come crashing back down. we brought a bag to spread tootsie-rools around your block. and we buried condoms under your trees.
unsure of my intentions my new boy holds me close and begged me to pack him another bowl to smoke. I light him up and let him wander. letting him touch all the things you've already touched. even me.
I eventually filled my insides with alcohol and dragged myself along your driveway like blue and green side-walk-chalk. drunkenly, I slurred words out of the hole in my bravery. like "I" and "want" and "to" and "be" and "yours" and "again".
despite my best interest, I find myself in the tree behind your house. chewing bark, filling myself. stealing memories.
my new boy protests and draws at my shoe strings.
"no no not yet! I'm not ready!"
he seizes my ankle and yanks me down.
Part 2: I loved you the most.
I think it would be lovely if you came back. and we were together again. I really really do. I don't really understand why you don't want the same thing…
we were prefect for each other. you fit into all my odds and ends, and I into yours. we. were. happy. –and we are not happy anymore! why?
I don't understand.
I don't understand why so many of us are heartbroken.
when we were once loved? how does that happen?
how does one go from love to nothing? why do they leave us [why do we leave them?] why don't they love us anymore?
was it the things we said?
I'm so so sorry, I apologize.
is it because we couldn't be her, no matter how hard we tried…
Part 3: this heart is wrecked
sometimes I forget you were even a part of me. I close up and shift inwards, and my insides reflect nothing that reminds me of you. there is no trace of your, backstab or underhandedness.
I can't make out anything starving, or losing air. It's as though everything is place, and nothing is broken.
but as soon as the alcohol coats, the paint peals, and I am revealed. I can clearly make out the lack of oxygen, around the sand filled heart. the oxygen leaking out through open fissures at my spine. a very solid mass wafts side to side like a pendulum over my, gag reflex.
It's as though there was a devastating upheaval of a girl who thought she was someone special for a second too long.