Runaway with my heart

Ah. Yes. It was right around Christmas.

I could feel it in the exact moment that it started, if I’m honest. The gap in text responses were broader, the invitations grew lighter. And while it was easier to deal with the aftermath this time, as I was now the product of truly well and seasoned brokenhearted circumstances (courtesy of you), it still struck a death blow to my heart.

One so heavy-handed that I swore that I could feel the pain radiate from its center, then stretch out lazily through my vascular system, spreading the heartsickness through each morsel of my body with sadistic glee.

There was no event, no fight, no disagreement. Not at all. You simply just slipped away from my life. And the beauty of it was that it was somehow both all at once and never-ending. If I wasn’t the one dealing with the damage, I’d be thoroughly impressed at the artistry of it. The leaving was pure art. Half Irish goodbye, half ghost.

Alas, my love. My true love. I’ll be right here, standing still in this same spot, without expectation but filled to the brim with hope that you’ll return. So that I can return the favor back to you and break your heart good and terrible. It’s going to be a delightfully grotesque bloodbath.

I can’t hardly wait… hurry, please.

/l