Here’s Where Broken Hearts Go
I’ll meet you there.
I accepted that it was over… But then I circled back again to be sure.
Are you thinking of me now?
OK.
How ‘bout now?
I reflect on you every day. Multiple times a day. I wonder if you look both ways before you cross my mind.
So, how could you not miss me at all? You must. A theory, perhaps misguided, that leads to my sporadic yet faithful double-checking.
In 1988, Whitney Houston famously asked, “Where Do Broken Hearts Go?”
A friend said that they go to the bar until they forget they are broken. I believe they go here, to this unfortunate limbo of confusion, denial, anger and unspeakable sadness. Until, one day the hearts are mended enough to escape.
The ability to let go will come to me again someday. Permanently this time. Hopefully. And my weary soul will bow in deep gratitude.
This may not have been love but something similar, at some point. I didn’t deserve to be reduced from all that I am to, this. I exhale, and remember that we don’t always get what is just, or even what is due.
I know that you must feel all of this energy conjured on your behalf. It must place a glimmer of my face in your eyes — an utterance of my name on your tongue. It must unearth memories of what we were and could have been. My presence must trespass into your thoughts.
Though I’d never know. You’d never tell me even if it were true.
How ‘bout now?
