On Broken Heart

How does one capture the vulnerabity of a broken heart? The anguish which cannot be described but only felt. When tears are held back lest they not become more ammunition for mocking in the hands of madmen. How does one begin to describe the agony of the heart which has not known love but only sorrow? Oh misery, why have you become my inseparable friend? The indelible imprint you leave on my heart and soul will torment me forever. 

I pity the loveless. I partake no joy in being different. It is just who I am. It is not a conscious choice. I have no sense of belonging.

If only someone truly felt what I feel. Not just at the surface but feel my whole being. What would it feel like to have every atom of my being reverberate in perfect sync with someone? Alas, I have not been fortunate enough to have known love.

Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I give  myself the luxury of hope. I fancy that a beautiful smile will mend my broken heart. A warm gaze will melt away all my pains. A warm embrace will  dissolve all my sorrows. But the hope is fleeting. The cynic in me shines forth. It convinces me that love is for fools. The trouble is not worth the effort. You are not wired for love. You cannot experience it. It will not do any magic. You have to take care of everything yourself.

How sad is to not know true love? How sad is to not love yourself? How sad is to not love anyone? How sad is to have never experienced love? How sad will it be to have died without knowing love, without being understood, without being heard, without understanding anyone, without feeling anyone, without hearing anyone? Words cannot express the unfathomable emptiness. The saddest part is I dont even know how sad. How can you miss something if you have not even truly known it? I dont really miss anything.

I must make peace with the vaccum in my heart. The cynic in me always wins. He reassures me. All this is biochemical. He minimizes the cognitive dissonance. He pushes away all the emptiness into the darkest and remotest abscess of my heart. I am back to my cynical self. But the darkest abscess of my heart knows. I am not complete.

BTW, I think love exists. It is just not for me and my wiring.