Characters Stories

Heartbreak Hotel

No love is the same. Yet each wound is as unique as heartbreak.

I could have cried more, for you.

Wrapped myself in butchers twine, holding my ripped pieces together with your promises and lies. An exhibition to show all the pain you caused. Although I am not of this sort, I can see, how misery loves company especially when sought with a fervor that can not be bought. 

A demonstration of love; a magic trick for the far sighted. How a belief can became a conception with a movement of the hand. I know you wondered, how I could have changed my mind. It was your response. Your certainty that it would be fine showed me, you did not know what love meant in my mind. In that moment you made our love a fad, a magic bean that you sold for rotting land.

My heart has grown accustomed to pain. As a child I learnt that love was easy to forsake and fake. I learnt that many wish to have their way and you cannot be angry if you decide to play. There are many pleasures that I learnt not to enjoy, however heartbreak is a feeling that I play with like a robust wooden toy. As I heard your voice speak the words, I felt our eternal home ripped from the roots, and thrown to dirt to grow anew on fertile earth.

I love you, with a kindness that I hold dear.  All temporal beings contain fear. We clean our walls and scrub the rot from the dusky corners, but everything comes back if we are not vigilant and free with what you want to be. Pull down the blinds and let patience rise from the floor. You will know more,  you will learn forgiveness to all you scorned. Forget your old face, it has no space in this room, you must kindly wait as time changes your darkness into bloom.

I should have cried more, when you told me what took place. Perhaps then you would have believed that I was hurt in a terrible way. I should have been angry and pulled at the doors, fury in my heart and my ego on the floor. Although this is unimaganitve, I can see what it does to those who peer and to those who hear. Years of understanding has taught me that pain usually has very little to do with the person who carries the wound. So I never blame, although my heart is never the same. This is the burden of living day by day. Of forgiving yourself for all your mistakes.

 We knew it all along. Or was your deception for you? Your fleeting heart, created a pitch that disturbed, every tune between me and you. You spoke with certainty, a warning that I was glad to see. Your promises became  secret notes I could keep, showing me the fantasy that you whipped into belief.

I cannot change, the pallet of the lights. The harshness of it on your skin, is a fairly unpleasant sight that helps me remember that fateful night. Our symphony changed to a pop song, one that allows everyone to sing along.  

You are near although I do not hold you close. I do not enter the room, where you grow, the only thing left for me, is the bleeding plants that I ignored when you entered my space.

 Your sound is muted.  Our time together is displayed on my shelf. An exhibition  that we thought would never end, turned into a seasonal delight. I wonder through the many rooms to find a home that does not include you.

Photography by N. Iroh

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