“Living with a broken heart is kind of like living with broken ribs. Everything looks ok from the outside but on the inside, every breath hurts.” — It’s Called A Breakup Because It’s Broken, Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt
It’s kind of crazy how easy it is to ignore what you know. That fight or flight instinct in you protects you; excludes you. The sharp pain of heartache slowly turns into a dull pain thats manageable. Not only is it manageable, but it’s also very easily hidden. It’s like pain shrunk itself from a mountain into a pebble. A pebble that you can put into your pocket when the occasion calls for it; You are very aware that it’s there and it’s still, in fact, yours. But it doesn’t interfere with things you have to do — like, u know, live.
Some days are better than others. Some days you actually almost forget that you ever experienced such heartache in the first place. Some days, when you’re on your favorite beach where the sand feels like velvet and the sun kisses your golden skin, you don’t have a care in the world.
And then, something small happens. Something like hearing two newly in love people, say “I love you, I love you more.” Something like seeing 2 identical boys walk down the street with their mother. Something as simple as a song on the radio, or an item on the menu in a restaurant. And all of a sudden this little pebble of pain in your pocket weighs about a ton. All of a sudden this innocuous annoyance becomes acidic and is burning a hole though your pants, your skin, your heart.
There it is. Your pain. Staring at you straight in the face.
So, what do you do now? I have no fucking clue. All I know, is that every breath hurts.