Narrative of a heartbreak

I walked into a room. My room. It was my house.

It was still a blur.

I caught a glimpse of my face when I entered in the mirror. The eyes were dead. My face was a piece of art in black mascara and salty tears.

I didn’t know what to do.

I went to the water bottle Nd took a huge gulp of water, finishing the bottle.

It was over.

How does one describe being heartbroken?

I felt a million pieces breaking within me. I felt like I was being stabbed, like my heart would stop any second and my throat was choking.

It wasn’t the first and yet the pain was just unbearable.

I sat there. Silent. Motionless.

Staring at the wall.

I don’t know how long I did that for.

See, time doesn’t slow down when your heartbreaks. You do. You are not living in those moments.

I was in the shower the next moment. It felt like a dream where I was flitting through from one scene to another.

Warm water on my back.

That felt reassuring.

I changed into my favourite pyjamas.

Took the tub of ice cream out from the freezer, switched on the TV to watch a crappy reality show.

I was numb.

The ice-cream vouched for and empathised with the numbness.

Cold.

Sweet.

My tears started freezing over too.

It still hurt.

I was still broken.

And for that night I allowed myself to break.

I allowed myself to cry and feel the pain.

I allowed myself to experience what was left of the love.

A love which will not exist beyond tonight.

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