Half Heart

Sometimes I wonder if I will live with half a heart. Part of it permanently removed, fractured from where you used to be. One day you were here the next it’s like you don’t see me. What we had was real, right? The connection, gentle and tender love. I am face down on the floor and everyone keeps telling me to look above. I am face down and I strain my neck to see, everything is so foggy. I want to stay on the ground, it’s comforting and I don’t know that anyone can hear me make sound. I know what happens if I stay here, I don’t have to move. Getting up would require me to shift everything about you. I am not ready to let go, so I dig my claws into the ground. Can you hear me now or am I still making no sound? I hurt myself by staying here - you see it’s an illusion because no one else is around. Me and my half heart is an illusion too, it’s impossible to be apart. Apart from me and my true self, the one who can see and trusts the above. Getting up with my heart so broken, I will wait for the gentle tug. The tug from loving support, waiting so patiently for me to come back home. Home inside myself, where my heart can heal and grow.