My heart, the organ near the left of my chest that pumps life in my body, aches.
I see you, happy in your oblivion.
I read you, and your wish to be with her.
And my heart aches.
It burns, like charcoal near a broken road.
I see you, but I don’t see You.
You are someone else, someone new. I don’t want you, not even for a second.
It burns because I want that, for a fraction of a second, I want what you have for her. Not from you. Definitely not from you. But from someone.
Maybe from myself. Is that a thing? Yearning for self?
My heart skips a beat, when I read what you write for her. It is honest, I could always tell when you lied. It is deep, you aren’t shallow anymore.
It lifts itself from the slump after few seconds. This isn’t love. This is yearning, this is nostalgia. This is a memory of a love that couldn’t be.
It’s cooler, it’s calmer. I smile and move on. Will return in few months maybe!
It is lighter, because I write. That organ is now back to work. Back to normal. Pumping life in me, a life that is so much better because you left.