Porcelain Heart by Barlow Girl, listen to it while reading, it helps.
--
It was excruciating really. Was I that much of a masochist? No. Then for what purpose?
His picture was clipped to the mirror in the bathroom. Why?
So I could see him every morning as I brushed my teeth? Or was it really just my way for not looking into the mirror? Because I knew what I would find there, and what I wouldn't. Blank eyes that once belonged to a smiling face. Well, it smiled no more.
I asked myself often enough, how could all this be the product of one man's affections? Or, lack-there-of?
That was the problem with love, it made you give yourself up to one person who might not be worth it, and you might not find that out until it is too late.
Love scares me you see, not because it can kill you. no, love can't kill you, but it ha the power to make you want to kill yourself, and that is what scares me.
How can we put our whole selves in the hands of one of our ever-so-oscillating human emotions?
And how could we put so much power into these such feelings?
For love is naught but a dream we give wings to, which we watch fly away in the sunset ,over the ocean, until suddenly it flies too close to the sun that is our happiness and the wings shred and we watch it while it falls to the sapphire pool that is reality, and drowns.
Since when did I get so deep?
Since I drowned.
Broken heart one more time
Pick yourself up, why even cry
Broken pieces in your hands
Wonder how you'll make it whole
For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, It might have been. John Whittier
That was written under the photograph, I hadn't written it. He had, him. The man who'd been the downfall of it all. The man who had changed, and ruined, my life.
I hated him, I loved him.
He hated me, or, from the way I'd treated him, I hoped so. I couldn't live with it if he still loved me, in a small part of his mind.
He had chosen her, and brushed me aside.
And I hated him for it.
For he had torn me in a way, that it didn't matter how much I teared at myself, for the damage was beyond repair.
Broken hearts can't mend again, can they? Or do they mend crooked like a broken bone without a cast around it?
I doubt there could have been a cast around my heart, little splinters of it had fallen here and there, a cast would not have helped. Until, well, until he came along.
I hated him maybe more than I hated Sam. Sam. The name made me convulse in anger. But him, if it were possible, made me even angrier.
--
Someone said "A broken heart
Would sting at first then make you stronger"
You wonder why this pain remains
Were hearts made whole just to break
--
Jacob Black.
I seethed, clenching my teeth and fisting my hands. He had had his heart broken by somebody whom he had loved, but whom hadn't loved him back.
And you know why I hated him?
Because he reminded me of well... me.
And I hated him for it.
I saw myself when I looked in the mirror, did he have to reflect me too? I didn't look so hurt, so lost, did I? And what if I did? I didn't care. Because there was no way to mend me again, and if I went down, I'd bring everybody down with me. And that, was a promise.
Alright, I won't deny it, I'm a bitch. I have no shame in saying it, I have a reason to be, I'm excused, if you will. How many other girls lived with a hurt this deep? Emphasis on the live, because all the others had killed themselves.
I hadn't. I was not such an idiot, I was not going to slit my wrist because of one man. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
I mean, how many wished me to kill myself and therefore get over my grief and leave them alone? Too many to count, and what did I owe them? Absolutely nothing.
I was a broken girl with nothing to tie her down.
I was dangerous.
And that made me laugh.
A difference between Jacob Black and I: he fell in love again. And I --didn't. If it was possible, I broke even more.
Something's gotta change
And mend this porcelain heart of mine
And create it into beauty once again
I looked at that photograph of him smiling, happy, I was beside him, the girl that could. It was painful to look at.
I pulled it off the mirror, dropped it into the sink and I left the bathroom.
The happier days with the sun, now banished by clouds and rain.
My porcelain heart that broke.
Why do we hold on to memories, when they are but regret for things that could have been?
--
So, this had nothing to do with the song until I listened to it and it made me expand the one-shot, to more of a longer one-shot.
--
Keep Reading,
xxTunstall Chickxx
28/12/08
P.S. My brother's 17, help!