Hundreds of miles settle in between us, but that was never really a problem. A simple text, a short email, or a brief phone call always bridged that gap. We made good use of technology.
However, what of this moment? What have I to do to fill the emptiness, this cavity? I'm falling deeper and deeper into a black pit and I see no light nor ground ahead. I've been fighting this infinite darkness and the pull of gravity, and I have yet to prevail.
On the surface and in the shallow, you see my strength and grace. Things seem clear; my waters look calm. But what of the whirlpool of emotions in the depths of me? What of the invisible elements--both great and small--that nibble my very skin or what's left of it?
My survival? It hasn't been a walk along the shore under the pale moonlight. It hasn't been a stroll along the meadow with the cool breeze gushing through my sundress. It's a sinking ship wrestling helplessly against the wild tides. It's an ongoing barefoot walk along a road of flaming coals.
My heart? It's not similar to that piece of glass being shattered into a million bits and pieces that others commonly describe. It's not even the sting from the stab of a poisonous dagger. No. Far worse. It's a taking of one's own life, a self-sacrifice so rarely done for saving. The great pain of knowing you're very own hands would shoot a bullet through your chest.
No amount of preparation ever gets a person ready for this. No extensive training could assure one's continued normal existence after a heart broken my oneself.
There is no known cure, but we must endure.
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