What's Inside My Head

I think you can split heartbreak into two categories. So first, you have nighttime heartbreak, right? You know, mascara stains on your pillow from where you pressed your face so hard to muffle the sound of the sobs racking your body and shaking the bones of your ribs. It’s the kind where your tears are falling so fast you need to gasp for air but even inhaling seems to hurt without them. It’s you staring out of your window at 2.43am at the full moon and wondering aloud what the fuck you did wrong. It’s you still up, still staring out your window, at 5.57am and watching a combination of reds and oranges bleed into the skyline and the tears are falling again because you used to believe that your sun would always rise and set with them but now they’re gone. But I think you’ve also got daytime heartbreak. That’s when you think you’re over them and a song comes on the radio and you’re singing along and typing a new message to them to tell them about this new song you like before you remember they don’t care anymore. It’s when you drive past their favourite cafe and it hits you that you’ll never look over into the passenger seat and see them watching the world flash by with a sort-of-childish amazement. It’s when you have to shake off the familiar stabs in your chest because the light has turned to green and the car behind you is beeping because they don’t realise that the stitches you spent countless nights working on have just torn ever so slightly. It’s where every flash of brown hair and every pair of green eyes makes you stop and another stitch rip. I wish I could tell you which one was worse but both leave you on the floor in a pool of your own blood and your hands in tatters from attempting to repair the holes in your heart which now has edges as sharp as ice.