Metaphor for a Broken Heart

Reads: 84  | Likes: 3  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
You never really get over your first love. I've moved on, I just need to...get it out of me.

Submitted: October 16, 2018

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Submitted: October 16, 2018



If I try, I can still see the imprints of those stars she left.

The hollows behind my eyes are a mold

Their shape reflective of the glowing orbs that once burned there.

When I close them, the outline of something brilliant lingers, still.

I can piece together a galaxy

In those burn marks left on my skull

Where a searing light once filled my head

And poured out of my fingertips, when I wrote about her.

In the smell of leftover stardust

A thin residue that coats my memories, years old.

I can almost remember what it felt like

When my body was a yawning expanse of black

Filled to bursting with spinning planets, dancing nebulae, burning stars.

Maybe, if I stretch myself to breaking

Pull my bones from their tissue and stack them end to end

Unwind my body into a single, long, reaching thread

I could graze the edge of a feeling I used to have.

For loving her was to swallow the cosmos.

Loving her was the systems that spun in my stomach

The stars that ricocheted off of my skull

The light that bled from every pore

And soaked itself into everything I created.

Loving her was to love something so gargantuan

So impossible in its intensity

So intangible in its divine power

So maddening it was unsustainable.

Loving her was to try and outrun light itself.

And yet

That madness is all my heart can desire.

For I’d rather be mad, than empty

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