They say time heals all wounds. I'm hoping, I'm really begging on my knees, pleading, that that is true. Sometimes it feels as if there is not enough time in the world to heal this gaping sore...but I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming of a day when I can forget.

Feelings are the one thing that is never concrete. They come in waves, and crash into your deepest soul, they pound on the insides of your heart and turn you upside down with grief. They come in every color of the rainbow, from the softness blues and yellows, to thousands of shades of reds and greens. They are the one thing that never quite heals completely, but I'm trying.


He broke my heart without even trying. Like every wave in the ocean that has ever broke on the shore piles up and smashes into my chest at the speed of a thousand ton train, that throws me down on the rocky shoreline and shattered glass of my heart, the colors that struggle to find ration and pull me in every direction a heart could be pulled. There is no escaping this one.

They say, forget it, he isn't worth the pain. But it's not pain any longer, now that the ocean swallowed up the shards of glass from the ever changing sand. There is only numbness, a sort of tingling feeling now and again that fades in and out but always reminds me of what loveliness I used to have. I am so numb...I am so lonely now that the ocean has receded and simply nothing is left in my chest anymore but ribs and lungs and veins.

They say time heals all wounds, so I'm trying each day to heal. I don't think I'll get much back of what I had before, but there are parts of me that might go back to a little like they were. I'll try for the sake of every bright color that I've ever felt, and every smile that has crossed my lips; maybe someday that will happen again.

I let him wash away in blues and dull grays of a raining sky one day, and let myself take the first full breath of air I had in a while. I let him go off, and within the dark burgundy and green that surround me I push through and wish him luck, if only a whisper, and I know he couldn't hear. Never really did.

There will be a time when I regain the feeling, the occasional pang of excitement or anxiousness, or love, in my heart again and I will know I'm almost healed. Love is such a beautiful thing. It is God's greatest gift, it is the earth's way of renewing. Love is why birds sing sweet songs, and love is the dance we give back to them. I pray that I will love again; after all the gold flecks of a new dawn are not too far away from the sad black depths of the ocean.