I find myself longing for heartbreak, craving a distinctive ache, unlike the mundane sufferings that refuse to alleviate their relentless, tortuous brace. They have plagued and prolonged their stay and I covet such sadness because to me, despair of such ferocious depth and calibre equates to adoration of some sort; romance and an actual love that was never just one-sided. Perhaps it is loneliness verbalising his dissatisfaction, or the humble thought of having something else – something new to woe about is somewhat riveting to me. I understand that heartbreak is crippling and no one truly wishes for such turmoil, myself included, so I suppose it’s just hunger for someone special to invade my life.
The luxury of having his side to curl into after a taxing day or to find warmth within his ample arms when you’re haunted with trivial nonsense. A partner in crime. Someone who’ll make you laugh until you cry and who can enrage over difference in opinion. Someone who accompanies you in the rain and dutifully dances at your side. We’d serenade each other with sweet nothings and we’d be that something you can’t be without; who immobilises you when they do. A connection that was once passionate and unbreakable, a tether to one-another, clandestinely flawed, one day abruptly disconnecting.
Being reckless in moving on. Using a number of chattels and substances to beguile the ingrained discomfort deriving from that gaping wound. You’re in a blinding and gratifying daze yet through the circus of it all you find yourself simultaneously lost. Hollow attempts of distraction, hoping to annihilate those memories of that significant other. How their hand wove protectively in yours. How captivating he was when he spoke. How enticing he smelt after a hot shower and even more so when he’d lather on his Acqua Di Gio. That bar you shared your first kiss and that restaurant you experienced your first heated conversation.
It’s a world of pain but like they say, it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,