i paint scabs in my heart

i never knew that a broken heart can be this painful. what’s even funnier is i never thought that this painful feeling was caused only by a man. i do not understand why he who had known me for only a few years can cause me deep scars. the pain is so real i am screaming. it is like you are burnt, but not. i am too sensitive to think, to talk, to meet people. i just want to stay still for i do not know how long it will take. i am shattered and hopeless. my now cold-bitter-hurt-dark self just told me that it is going to cost me life.

this made me wonder when there are people who i love dearly really love me sincerely, i need to be ready and brace myself to be broken over and over. in the end of the day, i will eventually end up alone. i am just… not sure if i am capable of loving for i have been ruined inside. because there are some days, and those days are pretty much every day, that my heart is now shapeless. that space in my heart feels cramped and suffocating and taped along the seams like badly stitched holes trying to get bigger and bigger again. my soft spots are strange and well-guarded somewhere. the locked little box may sit on one of the corners of my heart, but even i have no idea where that pretty box is, moreover the key. i have already lost them all. its cavity is becoming too narrow to fit one more person in it. a small heart of four chambers, one for those who love me, one for you, one for the things i should forget, one for the sentences you maybe want to say–your words, they actually submerge my feet, my gut, my lungs.

i like love stories, but more so stories of commitment, understanding, and acceptance. i like fairy tales, but more so tales of values, grit, and resilience. a journey is too long, a shot is too short. i embroider fear in shadows, unclear. they talk, i hear, tales of branched paths onto different eternities. but the scabs are now just the only think i can see everywhere, the only what’s already destined to me, my next step is only to put one or two colors in them so i can see at the very least single beauty of the broken trusts.

Photo by Glenn Carstens-Peters on Unsplash

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