itâs really fucking difficult to describe the weight of heartbreak on your chest.
because, you could say, itâs like a tonne of bricks, pressing against a thin board, held up at each end.
you know that soon, the pressure will become too much - and the board will snap. but you persist; you try to shift the ends of the board, readjust the balance point, despite how it only becomes evermore precariosly rested.
and, eventually, when your hands are splintered, and your forehead doused in sweat, you will sit back with reluctant submission, and accept that the board cannot be unconditionally strong. and it snaps. and you are left to watch, as the weight of a thousand bricks falls to the chasms of your heart - and you are broken.
you could, even, say that itâs like the swelling of a balloon. each breath causing an increase in its inflation, each laugh bringing you closer to weakness.
yet you continue to breathe, you continue to inflate the balloon, until it is tangible against your ribs, and you realise that it has been caught between your lungs this whole time; it is your heart.
but itâs too late - it does not cease. you have started to breathe, and now you canât stop, and it is growing, growing, growing, like a tumor in your chest, the air within it, entirely toxic.
you wait for it to burst, and the suspense is killing you.
there is nothing when it does. a hint of relief, perhaps; a waft of regret.
you could also say, perhaps, that itâs like your lips canât form the words. you cannot control yourself, you cannot see the end, as there isnât one in sight. itâs like every memory has been poisoned, tainted, and discarded. itâs like your name has no cause, other than to drive my heart deeper into my chest, until it enters the abyss. itâs like i had not known life without you before, and cannot survive the life after. and i am nothing. which is more than we ever were.
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