The first night I’ll try absorbing the truth competing with the rain outside, ignoring the river mapping my face. The next week I’ll drag myself to people and places unaware of purpose, then maybe I’ll sleep a few nights. I won’t stop smiling though or laughing or feeling happy along with the horrid emotions and I’ll make sure that only that pain is a reminder or your existence, only the pain.
I can’t deny I’ll lose faith in human bonding, in everything except believing that life is a tragic misfortune no matter how you see it and the only real hell is here and now. But that won’t stop me from living. You’ll leave with most of my soul giving me no option but engage myself in discovering new substitutes for it. I’ll let my creativity consume me, my curiosity set free on my own nightmares.
At dawn I’ll sit up waiting for the sky to match the cheap amber of your skin and when I’ve seen enough, I’ll look for the reek of nicotine with a hint of gum only to breathe it in one last time before I bid goodbye.
Maybe I won’t forget the eyes, your bold lashes, the big black trademark under your left brow. I can live with that but I won’t search for those ever again or weep to the displeasing thought of meeting them again.
I won’t look for love but I’ll crave affection wherever I find it. I’ll drown in desires and prance over new thrills. There’s an abundance of impulses to a freak with a broken heart and that’s the best thing about getting hurt.