Why is it that heartache breaks like nothing else? And, why is it that it strikes the same way every time? And, why is it something that can’t be unlearned?
Two years ago, I remember facing a different set of struggles to breathe. The struggle to survive while iron rods enclosed my ice-cold lungs, which could only be warmed and thawed by the purple hues of an 8 pm sunset in August. But heartache plays a different game. I could be sitting among the evergreens with a clear view of an unused golf course with baby blue skies dancing with jagged dashes of pink and still feel tired in my breathlessness of your anticipation and despise in my anticipation of you.
Maybe, heartache breaks us, our esteem, and our worth. Maybe ,”heart break” cuts at a rare angle because it’s a trap we willingly let our minds and hearts — stupid hearts— fall into. But, they play; they always play the game.
So, now we sit. Staring at baby blue skies while people, myself included, whisper our worth, but still I flail, seeking answers with thoughts drowning in freshly seasoned fears. Thoughts of “but I don’t want to see you with them” and “but why did you do this?” and “but why did you do nothing?” So, we pray. We pray to hit that “what the heck was that?” stage. We pray it hits soon. Then, one last thought comes to mind. This game that’s played stops when I stop playing the game.
So, I stopped playing the game, and the air found my lungs again. Or, so, she dreamt.