I died a hundred times but somehow I’m still alive. I died a million more times just today, but my heart somehow keeps beating faster. In and out, I’m aware of the breath, the word you’ve reminded me of a thousand times before. Where are you? Why did you leave? My body is ripped apart spread out on the floor. My heart is missing; someone stole it and ran away. I think it was sold 1/2 price at the carnivores market down the street. I heard it tasted sweet of sorrow and streamed blood of memories from the past.
What’s going on, I want so bad to know. I don’t have the guts to call or to write so instead I’ll just sit here and cry throughout the night. It’s random it comes and goes, more than often though it comes. I don’t trust myself for once, this time I’m not so sure. All I know is I hurt like hell, didn’t think this wound would feel so fresh after almost 2 years, but it keeps ripping open time and time again. My body is scarred for good. You’ve left an imprint never to be removed.
This monologue is universal in its beauty. Sometimes we just don’t have the guts to call or to write, so we simply sit in our heads recreating scene after scene of making mental, shoulda-woulda-coulda stories.
Love several lines…especially “I heard it tasted sweet of sorrow” and “You’ve left an imprint never to be removed.” Even when the break-up comes…we can be grateful for the encounter, the love story, the memories.