A low pit (1) Confessions of a whimsical, broken heart


He didn´t call all day long.

He didn´t text and I had this terrible craving for him. Scarily I realized I NEEDED him. This isn´t good, I thought.

My whole body started shaking in sadness and confusion. I was locked up inside my own skin. The skin I wanted to tear apart so I could go looking for him. My bones were anxious, my guts were restless. I just didn´t know what to do.

Cigarette became my best friend, my ally, my companion. At least smoking was something I could control, something I could do while I was dying inside.

It wasn´t even noon yet and I had to hear his voice. My brain, I could feel it, had this seizures every time I heard him talk. I didn´t want to seem desperate so I decided to wait for him to call. Bad decision.

Seconds passed by so slowly and heavily. Time was a burden, a horribly dense burden. It felt as if I had been trapped inside this thick viscous substance and I fought so hard to get out but I just sank and sank. Desperation owned me like a straitjacket. I couldn´t move an inch, not even my eyes or fingers or toes. NOTHING. I couldn´t even cry.

Somehow with a burning sensation I burst into tears. My eyes were so dry and dead that I felt the tears coming through like a blaze, like drops of acid eating my face.

After a few seconds my body softened and cooled down. Then, I don´t know when, I got lost in the peace of blackness.

I fell asleep for a few hours and then woke up crying. When did I become this person? When passion and possession kissed my soul and I decided to get carried away, to let go completely, to give myself to you. That´s when my heart inevitably became a whimsical broken heart.


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