broken-heart

She silenced her pain this time and listened to his.

Roxy was my breath of fresh air. My soft place to land. She was home to me.

If someone were to autopsy her heart, they'd find traces of life, evidence of eons gone by. Times when she'd been able to feel and the feelings left imprints. Maybe her heart was wearing a cast. Maybe it wasn't sclerosed at all but atrophied, shrunken, and the cast enclosing it was scribbled over with stories written in a dead language. Was there any softness left in there? Any spot that was still unfired, unformed, unglazed? Was there access? Entry? A place still open to impression? No. Her heart was finished. It bore, perhaps, records of life, but it wasn't alive. Too late for decoration. Too late for effects. Further handling could only result in cracks and fractures. People could cut themselves on the edges of her heart, she was sure of it.

Tell any grizzled old cutthroat a sob story about a double-cross and a broken heart and he'll eat right out of your hand.

A heart is never broken, it is our mind that can't find the key to unlock the treasures that are hidden inside each of us. Letting go, acceptance and trust to our core heart are the true path to reunion with our loving self and let all fears and sorrow disappear.

And yet you thought he was the one? Imagine a lifetime without laughter.

When the heart has been wounded, it forms scar tissue that acts as an armor around it, which in turn gives it courage to love again.

Is that what you meant when you said the more you love a person the harder your heart breaks?

What do we do after things fall apart? Do we run to the familiar once again? Do we attempt to numb the pain with distractions? What do we do after things fall apart?

Your dress is thin, you have been dancing, you are heated." "Always preaching," retorted she; "always coddling and admonishing." The answer Dr. John would have given did not come; that his heart was hurt became evident in his eye; darkened, and saddened, and pained, he turned a little aside, but was patient.

I wrote letters in the classroom, I wrote letters at my desk at home with Seagull in my lap, I wrote letters at empty tables during my breaks at the Italian restaurant. It was as if I were writing letters to hold together the pieces of my crumbling life.

He holds his hand out for me to see it like he__ cradling something delicate or breakable, an egg or like, his heart.

The day drags through though storms keep out the sun;And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on:Even as a broken mirror, which the glassIn every fragment multiplies; and makesA thousand images of one that was,The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold, And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,Yet withers on till all without is old,Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.

Rational was for people who didn__ have a broken heart.

The broken heart. You think you will die, but you keep living, day after day after terrible day.

He doesn__ move a muscle except for his eyes that follow her path as though somehow he can see her contrails. His whole existence revolves around a girl who left his orbit, and he was the one who spun her off her axis.

Vitamin E, get much sleep, drink much water, travel to a place far away...meditate and teach your heart that this is destiny._ - Wayan

Bucket lists are supposed to be about doing things you've always dreamt about not torturing yourself.