What May Come from a Broken Heart
When people ask how I am, It’s FINE, is usually my response. My friends know that is code, for the opposite. The dark circles beneath my eyes, proof of sleepless nights and other nightmares.
Cantaloupe was our panic word, the come and save me word, for visitation times and funeral day.
If we’d been honest, there would have been an overflowing bowl of orange, fruity sweetness, but none of us used it, not even once.
We lie, we fight, we answer, “It’s FINE.”
But inside, our hearts are splintering, searching for solace, spinning out of control.
A fellow writer predicted my pinnacle has yet to come, that something more must come from my pain.
Right now, my broken heart feels simply broken.
Only the future knows, but for now,
It’s fine.
Cantaloupe was our panic word, the come and save me word, for visitation times and funeral day.
If we’d been honest, there would have been an overflowing bowl of orange, fruity sweetness, but none of us used it, not even once.
We lie, we fight, we answer, “It’s FINE.”
But inside, our hearts are splintering, searching for solace, spinning out of control.
A fellow writer predicted my pinnacle has yet to come, that something more must come from my pain.
Right now, my broken heart feels simply broken.
Only the future knows, but for now,
It’s fine.
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