Be still my aching heart

Be still my aching heart as the weekend is over. My heart is very heavy. My muscles are tired, and I can feel the fog blinding my eyesight. It’s a haze, it’s pain, it’s agony, it’s the bleak that we fear. It is unholy to feel this pain, it is not fair.

Yet we feel it. And this feeling is not that common. We do not feel our heart often, we often do not feel it hurting us unless we actually have a cardiac disease maybe, like when you can feel your hurt stopping to the tip of your finger. Or when you are heartbroken.

Have you ever felt this feeling before? To have your heart hurt so much that you clench your chest because you know that there is nothing that you can do at that moment, at that very second, that will make the pain go away.

That no matter how much you scream, or how much every tiny cell in your body cries for help, no matter how much you sweat, how much you cry, how much you feel like you are being stabbed with a sharp and poisonous knife to your chest thirty times a second, you know that it will not go away.

That feeling, that feeling, that feeling you may feel when you go out of your house wearing shorts, unaware that it will rain, that it’s piercing cold. And you’re cold, and there is nothing that you can possibly do to feel warm. You just got out of the warm house, what you once called home, and you know that you are not welcomed back again.

That feeling when, you’re sitting on a hill watching the sunset, a time that you usually feel most at peace with, but you’re not happy, you; ‘re scared. Because you’ve been thrown out, you’re exposed, you’re no longer in safety, you’re out, cold, naked, ugly, and in pain.

Do you know what I’m talking about? Or all of this is just blabbering, the two cents of the dramatic girl that is me? Can you possibly imagine for one second that all of those are actually emotions felt?

Felt for someone that is so deserving, someone that takes my breath away with a smile, a lip bite, an eyebrow plucker. Someone that meant the world to me, yet slipped right through my hand, because I could not protect from my own self.

I will write about him. I will give him justice. Just not today, not when I’m this beaten down and fatigued. When I have the strength to describe him.

When I am brave enough to let you know. To let you know.