From the Bottom of My Broken Heart

When your heart is broken, everything is more real and surreal at the same time. I can suddenly feel my fingertips. How long have they been there? How long have I been able to feel them? Everything besides my own body seems far away, and I feel removed. I am alone.

The days pass and people whisper “she’s doing so well,” “she seems really happy.” The expectations are miraculously low. I am grateful that people tip toe around the issue. My boyfriend and I broke up. Let’s not talk about it.

Let’s talk about my evenings.

I do not have to attend to my usual nightly phone call to recap our days and report on our jobs, our moods, and occasionally, our feelings.

I hung on his every word, wishing and hoping he’d end the conversation this time with “Good night, Stephie. I love you.”

He said it sometimes, but not enough. Can it ever be enough?

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