The pieces of a broken heart

My heart was broken once again.

Time never seemed to be enough before it shattered all over again. Fragments that soiled the world around me.

His words still hung in the air, refusing to leave me — a constant memory I would have to relive in the weeks ahead.

“We’re done.”

That was all he said. No explanation. Nothing.

When he turned to leave, I followed him, trying to grab his coat and make him stay, to tell me why he was doing this.

He only shrugged. “I got bored.” Then he snatched his clothes back, and I lost my balance and fell right into a puddle.

I was soaked through, and he didn’t even care. He didn’t even smile. He just gave me a look of indifference and kept walking away.

I was alone and broken.

My legs didn’t work anymore. I stayed on the ground, felt the cold seep into my skin and spread throughout my body.

We had been together for seven months, and he discarded me as if I were dirt under his shoes.

“Cal!” I shouted after him, forcing myself up and rushing after him. Water droplets trailed behind me, but all I cared about was him. I could wash the stains from my clothes, but I would never be able to cleanse my heart of him.

I would have to try.

Pick up one piece at a time. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even just about him. It was about all the men who had hurt me before. It had become a mountain of heartbreaks. All of them had scared me in some way.

Why did I even put myself out there? Why did I think it would be different this time? It never was.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” he said, his voice snarky and judgmental. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Then tell me why!” I pleaded. “Am I not enough for you? What did I do wrong?” My voice trembled as I forced out the last question. But I had no choice. I had to know — even though it might shatter my heart all over again.

He sighed loudly. “Fine.”

The silence that followed seemed to close in on me and swallow me whole. The air stung my eyes, and it was hard to breathe.

“Yes?” I couldn’t wait any longer.

He shook his head and looked away. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” When his eyes met mine again, he searched me, making sure I knew what I was asking for. When I didn’t protest or look away, he continued.

“I’ve met someone else.”

I didn’t let him say anything more. I turned and walked away.

At that moment, I made a promise to myself. He was going to become nothing more than a bad memory, an erased past. He would slowly fade into nothing.

I was going to make sure I lived up to that promise.

When they ask me in the future, I won’t even remember his name. He won’t even be a distant memory. He will be nothing.