1 MILLION LITTLE PIECES OF THE HEART YOU BROKE

I believe that when we're born, we're born with our whole hearts. I believe that a part of life is growing to accept that pieces of that initial heart will slowly chip away until the moment we die. However many pieces break away account for all of the experiences that caused the fallout. And in the end, it's what makes an individual and the life they've lived unique. This Blog Post is dedicated to the fragments of my heart, honouring how beautiful they once appeared in their truest form. Although I miss those parts of my heart, the remaining heart I have now has been taught strength, truth and resilience to survive in its leftover shell, battered, bruised and ultimately, broken.

I was an outsider on the inside of our love. And I know you believe otherwise but I always loved you, even when I hated how you made me feel. This piece of my heart wrote a note for every disgusted look you shone my way, as though my existence was the scum beneath the shoes on your feet. This piece of my heart wrote a note with every kiss on my forehead that you took back, sealing it behind your lips, never to release it again. This piece of my heart wrote a note every time you lulled me to sleep and became the nightmare in my dream. This piece of my heart remembers its essay often. It's the depression that follows me, making me trip up a hill because my legs are too tired or lie between my sheets all day that do nothing but make me feel safe unlike how you did. Sometimes I miss the sound of your voice... Its depth, its gentleness, its hum that sore past the words you spoke, the vibrations remembering the songs you slowly, beautifully sang. Sometimes, I miss it so much that it makes me wish you were here. In these moments, I want to touch your face, outline its smile lines with the tips of my fingertips or sweep away the tears I think would fall if we met once again. But sometimes isn't all the time. Sometimes accounts for all of the times I forget. I forget how far away your voice felt as we spoke over the phone, for months at a time when you'd left me again. Or I forget how loud and scary it sounded as your hurtful words were screamed at the top of your lungs. I forget how it would make me crumble and rip my heart apart into a million little pieces. Sometimes I miss you... But not enough to place my broken heart into your hands because every time I gave you that chance, you never pieced it together again.

What was to me, the heart on my sleeve, was to you, a board to throw your dice on. We once laughed at each other's jokes and clapped each other's hands to 3,6,9 the goose drank wine and slept in each other's beds and hugged each other as we cried over cute, stupid boys. I felt more invested than you and I know that it was true because if it wasn't you who broke away, it was me but I became the girl you never called, the girl you never texted, the girl who's mention of her name would never again leave your mouth. I beg to ask did your heart ever mourn me the way I mourned yours? Did you write a note when I finally said 'goodbye' after you let me initiate every plan we ever made, after you proclaimed my deepest secrets when you said you'd keep them safe, after you turned the other way when I started running to you with my arms wide open and your name on my tongue but you were around the girls who would make you feel ashamed to have ever laughed with me in a daisy field on a perfect day? It's okay if you didn't because I dedicated enough pieces of my heart to make enough for you and I, the pair we never became again.

I became a prisoner amidst our war when I stopped being an equal player and grew too weak to fight in our wicked game. It wasn't fair but you were never one for compassion. You relish in the ruthlessness of striking when your opponent is down, injured and begging for you to surrender. But you don't and you won't. This piece of my heart wrote a note every time I felt satisfied, yet you told me to be hungry for another few that turned into another ten that turned into another million. This piece of my heart wrote a note with every promise you kept that made me safer in your truth than the truth of love and home and family. This piece of my heart wrote a note with every slither you took from my skin that you tied around your neck as a trophy for the girl whose heart you broke into a million little pieces.

I’m either the girl of your dreams or I’m the girl I’ll wished you never dreamed of. You’ll never find the me beneath my body whose heart beats for you. You’ll only see the flesh around it that’s pretty and dainty and porcelain and picture-perfect enough for you to squeeze your hands around and make you feel strong and masculine but how will I know that it’s wrong until you write your name on 1 million little pieces of my heart that broke for you? And if I truly am the girl of your dreams, I'll be the kryptonite that ignites the bomb that will blow our love apart. You see, I'm the girl who sharpens the knife that I strike through my heart. You'll ask me why but I won't know. I don't know why any better than you... That's the bitter irony of it all. And even if I did the answer to why doesn't change the fact that at day and at night I cry and cry and cry into the river that fills a desolate hole that knows a lover no better than it knows its soul. I'll never let you love me, even if you try. Once, I let someone but it broke both of our hearts into 1 million little pieces. I can bear the pain that is my heart divided but to watch it happen to you was like watching the silk blue elegance that is a moon at twilight turn the darkest shade of black and cast its tide to an eternal stillness as it mourns the purpose it cannot now, ever fulfil, and is instead motionless and still.

These are the icebergs of my heart that chipped away. There's a piece called your daughter, there's a piece called your friend, a piece called your captive and a piece called your lover. Can you guess, Dolls, what piece of my heart belongs to who? There is something you can know for certain, though, Shopaholics, and that's the fact no piece feels estranged any more or any less to what's left of my pitiful heart that each person tore to shreds.

Kisses,

COS x