Heart and Its Broken Pieces

Heart and Its Broken Pieces

I once read that we write best when our hearts broken, we write best when our souls crushed, we write best when our brains cannot think straight.

It is painful to know that the best pieces are born from the very depressed hearts, it is miserable to know that the more hurt we are, the better our pieces will be.

Shit.

It is also weird to know that I tend to swear a lot either when I am sad or brokenhearted or upset. It can be all three. Shit.

I hope my love problems are bigger and much more complex than this.

I hope my heart and its broken pieces can be mended – or at least – entertained.

I hope I cannot hope anymore, especially to the creatures called men.

Shit.

Other girls will be upset over their men cheating on them or over their over protective boyfriends. I wish I were upset over the same things too. Not the cheating on me, though. You get my point.

The fact that I have never been in a serious or even in a relationship is sad enough to begin with. I will probably call myself very unlucky in love. I am lucky in anything else, but never in love. Suck.

I have my heart broken over and over. I have my heart broken not by my asshole boyfriend or by my coward ex. I simply have my heart broken by people whom I cannot call mine. This has always been like this. Suck.

I have this wall covering my heart. I am not hurt by any men, I am respected well enough by men I know, but I never loved more either. My problem has always been letting myself expect like crazy and end up being so fucking disappointed. It is true, then, expectations lead to disappointments.

I have always been this cautious then regarding my love life. I am afraid of being disappointed again. But, life sometimes can be pretty good and exciting, and there is one or two men coming on my way. So, I expect again, I live, I cherish this awkward moment of falling in love.

It is funny how happiness can fool me to let my guard down, to let someone, once again, has power over me. It is not that I am afraid of being in love. I am just, well.

I am always fast to speculate, to assume, to think, that someone might be interested in me. I still believe in love, after all. I still believe that my personality is interesting enough for someone to come and stay. I am all wrong, after all.

I am sweet, super sweet. I am bitter, thanks to this miserable love life. I am just so done with expecting, with being one-sided, with falling without the chance of being loved back. I am pathetic, in short.

Falling in love is one of the best feelings any human beings can feel. It is a blessing. Being loved in return is a greater blessing that I am still lacking. All this time, I chase someone that is too far from where I stand, who is totally out of my reach. All this time, I always love hard, no matter what. I am dedicated and passionate, I am supportive and caring, I can be all he wants. But, the suck thing is, he never wants me.

Falling in love is great until you reach the point where you are the one who loves. One-sided sucks as hell. That is my all time problem. I always believe in possibilities, I am optimistic, yet I end up being crushed by my own expectations and optimism.

Falling in love is great until you reach the point where you find out that he is into someone else and you just know you need to stop trying. The suck part is you will be left with yourself, no one will come to check on you. It will be you picking up your broken pieces.

And you will be there again, starting the same thing again, lifting yourself up and moving on. You will feel terrible and broken all over again. You will blame yourself for being easy enough, for using your heart and not your head, for falling in the first place. And you will move on promising yourself to guard your heart again, and this time, stronger. You will build the wall again to protect you from anyone who will tear you down. You will use it to protect yourself from the pain and sorrow that you do not want to bear again in the future. You will use it to protect the broken pieces.

You cannot blame the person, you blame yourself. It is you who expect and assume anything after all. It is you who conclude things, to imagine things the way you want when everything is still unclear. Suck.

It is suck, being disappointed. It is suck, knowing that you are the one who lets it happen. It is suck, realizing that you are the one who hurts yourself.

 

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