The Broken Heart

My heart is broken, shattered into a million pieces years ago when I was young. My life feels like a journey of finding each individual piece and gluing them back together, one by one. I’m forced to pause to examine each one, and relive the memories and pain before finding the place it belongs. There will always be cracks and scars, but I remind myself that one day I will be whole.

Last night my heart ached again, reminding me that my work is far from done. I thought of my father as I sat putting a puzzle together, something we used to share in years past. I broke off contact with both my parents over a year ago, and I’m left feeling abandoned, wanting so bad for them to care, to stop what they are doing and search for me, to ask themselves why I’m not in their lives. Yet, here I sit, alone, knowing they are out there moving on with their lives with little concern for mine. I want so badly for a different outcome, but I knew going into this that they wouldn’t change and I would have to grieve them as if they were dead, as if they never existed to begin with.