I think we could’ve had something real,” she confesses.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I think he could’ve loved me.”

“He meant a lot to me. Every smile, every glance from across a room, every time he made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe meant a lot to me,” she says and smiles, but her eyes are collecting a few tears.

“But he’s doing all that and more with her now, and I’m left wondering if I ever meant anything to him at all.

The desire to be loved is the last illusion:
Give it up and you will be free.

I realized heartbreak wasn’t poetic when my sister was driving her car 90mph, her hands clenching the steering wheel and her mumbling “I can’t believe I was so stupid.” because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t turn her broken heart into anything more than a mosaic. because when this boy had to talk in front of the class, his eyes watered when he mentioned her name and he shrugged his shoulders and said “sometimes things just don’t work out.” and he still loved her. because when it happened to me I pictured me going 90mph on the highway, and mumbling about how I still loved him but instead I threw something at the wall and I wrote about it. I wrote about how much it hurt and tried to make my ribs cracking with all the weight of my heavy heart sound poetic but it’s not. nothing is beautiful or poetic about the way your heart feels when someone you loved leaves, or doesn’t stay, or says “I’m sorry, it just has to be this way.” and there’s nothing poetic about driving so fast you’re convinced you’re gonna crash into the bridge, but you don’t. and it’s accidentally taking a breath under water even though you know it’ll get in your lungs but you just couldn’t come up for air and it’s not beautiful, it just makes your lungs fucking burn. heartbreak is going to open your mouth and nothing comes out but a few broken pieces of your heart and you swallow it back down in hopes of no one noticing your heart coming up from the ocean waves forming inside your stomach and with just one more look from him, you know you’ll turn into a hurricane and it’s dangerous. it’s not beautiful. it turns people into natural disasters that destruct anything in their paths. it makes hearts so broken you can barely see the flame that sparked it up in the first place, because the ocean inside of them washed it away, and you can’t love him anymore when he’s a flame and you’re the ocean.

can’t you see the way that he looks at you when you talk during class and the way he looks at you when you get up and go do something and can’t you see the fucking way that he looks down because he’s too hurt to even look you in the eyes when he knows that you left him for someone you claimed to “be better.” and can’t you see that you broke him in half like he was nothing but a piece of paper you would rip up and shred and can’t you fucking see that you made him so scared of talking to anyone that all he does is keep his head down? because he still loves you and I can see it in the way he moves and he still gives a shit about you, even though you treated him like a dead corpse not even worth remembering and I guess you didn’t give a shit about a funeral because when he finally got the courage to leave, you didn’t even say goodbye or wipe away any tears but you just walked past the coffin of his past love and left without any closure, and now his casket is wide open and he’s just waiting for you to come close it; but you never will, because you’re too busy hurting broken souls to realize his was too warm for a cold soul like yours.