How Do You Mend
A broken heart?
In high school, it meant girls-only dance parties. Reassurance from our best friend, in our bathroom. As we bawled on the floor. Tears and music. Music and tears. Quieter times. Heartachey times. But it was one month at most, and any traces of pain disappeared as quickly as we changed classes. It wasn't love. But it was vulnerable, it was risky, and it was very public. And we were very private, private as ever- about relationships.
In college, it meant girls-only sleepovers. Support, hugs, and promises that we would do better. Find better. Deserved better. Late nights of drinking, dancing, and silliness to boost spirits. Encouragement to flirt. Long talks. Long walks. Tears and beers. Beers and tears. Emotional roller coaster riding together. Our friends on board, one ex-boyfriend not. An abundance of support. One empty aching heart. It wasn't love. But it was the biggest cut yet. You grow up after that. You learn how to make sure you're watching out for yourself. And then you gain your vulnerability, and your heart back...slowly...and with one false step after the next, 'til you gain your head back too.
And then you lose it again. You realize there's something better out there, something closer to the real you. And you fall, and you fall, and you fall out of touch with reality. You let yourself get swept away. It's better than anything you've ever felt before. And when it starts breaking down, it's worse than anything you're ever felt before. We get older, and it ALL gets harder. It just does. You're intertwined. You're connected. You're close enough to predict thoughts and what that person will say next. And so add that all up and you're broken. Your heart burns and aches and feels so lonely with emptiness. You're done smiling for a while. You seem more serious, you are more serious. You're sad enough to cry once a day and your stomach feels like it's rejecting you, or anything that might come it's way. You're a walking, bleeding cut trying to keep up with appearances, by bandaging up the outsides. You wonder how this sort of heartbreak ends. And for the first time you don't know if it will. And you haven't the faintest idea how, or where to begin.
The first cut is not the deepest.