vacuum

Scars.

There are different types of scars. 

Birthmarks, scars caused by accidents: maybe a fall or a scrape or a burn; 

Scars that heal and scars that leave marks.

There are old scars. There are new scars.

And then there are the deep scars. 

The ones that run through your body so deep like blood through your veins. 

The ones who refuse to let you forget. 

Determined to never let you heal, to not un-break your heart, and to never set you free.

These scars aren’t ordinary.

No, they cannot be seen.

They are misunderstood.

And no one knows they ache in every corner & every ounce of your being.

Like the pain of unrequited love,
these scars make you feel broken, worthless,

And they sting your eyes with the tingle of each tear.

But no, this is not a story about unrequited love.

This is a story about memories.

Memories of real love.

Memories of happier times when you were all I knew.

Then the memories turn dark.

Memories of hopelessness, anger, frustration became all we knew.

When you can look me in my eyes, but not really see me.
Like you’re looking through me and my heart is breaking.

Breaking because there was a time when you would look at me.
And I mean, really look at me and call me beautiful and tell me you love me.

A female’s intuition does not lie.

I should’ve foreseen the way our story would end.
Inevitable, unavoidable, a disaster.

You can tell me sorry a millions times over, tell me you will change,

Tell me you love me, tell me things will get better;

And still not admit wrong, as if you have no faults.

Maybe defeat is too tough to admit,
And pride is too hard to swallow.

But sometimes it is just far too late.

Because the ending of our story has already been written.

It was written by you.

The physical scars are gone now, but the psychological wounds remain.

They have changed me.

I am colder.

I am no longer naïve. 

I am an emotional collision, waiting to happen.

Because truly, how do I begin the process of healing this tender wound in my heart? 

And I guess it’s true what they say.

“The hottest love has the coldest end.” 

When logic battles love. 

With a death of such intense passion; 

It leaves a vacuum of emptiness in my body and in my soul.

It feels like poisonous butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

And I promise myself that one day, I will stop chasing your memories in my dreams. 

I’ll stop bringing your name up over dinner, when I’m lonely, at the supermarket, when I hear a love song on the radio, and even when I drink just a little too much. 

And I know that one day, I will move on.

Because when that day comes, I will tuck the pain away slowly.

I will hide it so well that even I will believe it is no longer there.  

Within time, the years will wrinkle my skin.

Wrinkles that will define the survival years of my life,

With a heart that has experienced wisdom beyond her years,

And I will remember that faded scar of my past.

And I will think of you.

Of our hottest love and our coldest end.