This Is How They’ll Never Die

Yes, this is another heartbreak post.

It is up to you now if you want to swim into the depths of yet another debilitating venting   of a heartache-stricken girl who swore she was going to write off the guy who would never love her back, but is now writing another crap just to squeeze out all the hurt in the hopes of getting her heart fixed (or at least get past the hangover).

Hemingway has never been so wrong when he said “We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in.”

It is only when we’re hurting that we get the energy to sit down, type and just bleed it all out in a blank page. It’s the art of heartbreak—like coffee, only more painful and crushing. You want a good story? You either gulp a cup of coffee or go through the stages of heartbreak. The only difference it makes is that with coffee, you burn your tongue, unlike with heartbreak where you burn your very soul. And a burnt tongue aches for barely a day or two, compared to a heartbreak which lasts for as long as I don’t know. If the healing was fast, it probably isn’t love at all.

Heartbreak. The only beauty in a field of sorrows is when you can turn them from human into words. But then you try so much to murder them in your writings and you wouldn’t stop until you have succeeded in turning them into a monster so they still end up alive. The more you torture the thought of them by recounting all the pain they caused you, the more you ache and die.

You write about them because you want them to exist forever. They fill the pages of your journal because you couldn’t kill them just like that. You want them to suffer the same torture they inflicted upon you.

You wouldn’t talk to your friends because you know they’re only going to talk you into moving on. You listen to the same songs over and over again because it reminded you of them. You replay in your mind the weekends you shared in his apartment and dwell on every memory of them—good and bad—sweetest torture. You never had the courage to delete all your pictures with them in the hopes of getting back together, and you never want to accept the truth that it’s going to need a cosmic alignment for the two of you to ever happen again. And so you bargain for the lost love and try with all your might to get them back.

And that’s how you bleed again. You wouldn’t stop writing about them until there’s nothing more to write because they’re your default—they once brought you so much happiness that you could write hallmark cards out of them. That was how you started to write. Once upon a time, you were overwhelmed with so much happiness that it overflowed into poetry. But when they turned off the light, you still kept a little lamp that you kept burning wishing one day they’d share the same flame with you and illuminate the same room again.

That is how they’ll never die. That light will never bring them home like how you think lighthouses guide sailors to their wives again. That light is ought to die with them. They left for a reason. And your only choice is to either blow the candle, let a different light find you; or keep that gloomy light on and burn with it.

“Hearts can break. Yes, hearts can break. Sometimes it would be better if we died when they did, but we don’t.” – Stephen King

About Amanda Jean

Amanda Jean is a 21 year-old Public Relations writer for a university in Zamboanga City.