confessions of a broken heart

you know that moment when the heart break hits? 

Sometimes it’s instant, sometimes it’s late at night when you dream about them and the dream is so real that you almost believe it and other times it’s a month later after a (what you originally thought was a) kick ass text message that resulted in the other party removing all trace of you from their life (as much as those traces were terribly ugly, they were traces) As you can probably tell the latter was me.

I had a awkwardly vivid dream that my ex had called me.

Even though I’ve blocked his number.

 

So I decided to give him a casual check up stalk. You know see what’s happening on his social media life as opposed to the snippets of his life his mum is determined to inform me off at least once a week. Yes you heard me right. His mother. Facebook messages me. About him “Hi Talia, how are you? I miss you, Shane spends so much time in his room on his xbox it’s driving me mad!” and so on and so forth. 

Anyway. Back to the story. 

I started with Instagram, because, well, why not?

And he’d removed ever trace of me from his account. I didn’t exist. 

It hurt. And for the first time. I actually felt the heart break I thought would never come. 

 

I was half afraid that I’d never feel anything. 

That I was so emotionally damaged that I couldn’t feel even the slightest hint of pain. 

 

But I’m now completely sure that I feel pain, I feel every mind numbingly painful stab of that proverbial sharp pointy object stabbing into my cardiovascular system and making me regret ever eating breakfast as I proceeded to wish I could go and die in a very deep, dark and rather damp hole and be buried, and hopefully never dug up. 

If only I looked like Mila Kunis. 

Image

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