Sometimes it feels like my tears are more like a waterfall than drops. And like my eyes are merely sponges, already full, because when the slightest memory of you comes to mind, tears are always ready to fall.
But how else could it be when a part of me is dying? Maybe already dead? Decaying?
Sometimes it hurts my heart to breathe and think and live, and what and that it is keeping me alive feels more like a dense weight when my life itself is now one unknown, without you.
But how else could it be as the memories that once fortified and shaped it become distorted and reconfigured, melting into deeper places, out of reach for the sponge that my eyes have become, tucked away, since the memories that once brought me joy are now attacking me?
And after eight years, this army of memories has built quite an arsenal. Enough to defeat me, perhaps.
But how else could it be? This is heartbreak.