What happens to the pieces of a heart that breaks? Of the house I have built for you tucked in my left quadrant. Every beat, you left the chamber to feed my body. Rich in oxygen, you left me feeling so alive, until being alive was not enough. But perhaps feeding my body became too heavy to reside there any longer. So you gave me your month’s notice before I had a chance to evict you.

Where does it all go? The love you have talked about in great lengths. In the cards you wrote so poetically. Words as expressive as the West Coast tide. Beneath your body, you hide a sea floor full of abundant life with only a short window to access its bounty. You don’t let yourself love as deep as your deepest abyss where some of the most extravagant life forms live. Your love lies deep within the creature you have become; the magnapinna squid. You remain uncaught, uncollected. You live at your own pace gliding smoothly through the void with love guarded by your elongated fins.

What becomes of the memories that no longer have an anchor? The memories gets transmuted to grief, to wisdom. With no other purposes. No more relating, no more bonding. Just a different timeline plastered with different tints.

How do you move forward when forward seems so far away from the vision you once had? When the road ends on either coasts and the bullets stop flying. When the unhealed versions are still screaming and hanging on to the trauma bonding, what then becomes of forward? Not of tomorrow, not of yesterday, but of now. How can now become the only road you walk on? When stagnation hides behind a mask. When the illusion of moving forward slowly fades away. When you expose your naked body to another and scream “Choose ME”. When the reciprocity isn’t there. The vision of a future was only ever a fantasy. Damn fairytales.

When the pieces starts to mend again, what will the lessons bring forth? I don’t want to see them yet, because to see them is to acknowledge that these pieces no longer exist. When I will have processed it all, what will become of his character. How will his image morph into the heart that once gave him tenderness. The empty words that weighs heavy on my heart cannot bare to be looked at naked. I want to mend them until they scream what I want to hear. To look at mended part is too much to bare for when they are mended, the picture of him will be clear. Clearer than the body of water we shared on the ascent of Golden Ears.

A broken heart is a forgiving one. A broken heart knows how to let itself be naked to others. It knows the risks and yet it chooses to give itself to others over and over again. For a heart knows how to beat on its own and feed the Being that contains it.

I could cry enough tears to make my own ocean, so that you may feel safe enough to dive deeper…

Good bye my little squid, merci for the wonderful ride into your vastness