SirianaSims

Paul was gone. But I wasn’t heartbroken.

I was the daughter of a doctor, after all, and I knew that hearts don’t break.

Bones break.

But hearts?

Hearts are a muscle.

They tear, a slow agonising stretch of fibres fraying as they’re pulled apart under the weight of loss.

They rupture, leaving ragged edges in the tissue of our very being.

They bruise, the dull ache a constant reminder that something integral has been damaged, crushed by forces it was never meant to withstand.

Hearts don’t break.

Because a break sounds too clean, too easy, for what this was.