Physical pain. Overrated. Mental pain. Fatal.
I walked along the knee-grazing streets. My head hung low. My mind hung lower. I ponder, why did I ever think he would stay. Why he would ever see through my inhumane act. An act of which only I knew was a sham. "I don't need your help, I don't want your help". Who knew self inflicted heart break was possible. My body only answered to him but I threw the control away. My mind was inebriated by him. He was my own personal drug. My own life support but I turned off the machine.
I stuffed my hands into my cotton jacket pockets; the warmth engulfing my hands, just like his rough ones had once done. The weather was bitter. Bitter like my thoughts.
Everyone knows the feeling. The feeling of hearing something so indescribably painful. The pain, only comparable to one of being shot. It hits you like a bullet. It goes right through to your core and for what feels like a lifetime, your isolated. Your locked in a echoing, blurry, quiet world. Tears barricade your eyes but you're so intoxicated by your thoughts that you never notice the spill. How your cheek is like a car window on a rainy day and your lip trembles like your hands in a winter storm.
There he was, laughing away. Swinging is conjoined hand back and forth. Staring at the face, admiring the body. For now the name he thought of when he woke in the morning and dreamed of at night, was no longer mine.
