Exquisite pain,
Like the prick of a rose's thorn, or stubbing your toe on a hard corner.
That is the pain of being in love,
And the other person not feeling the same.
The pain is white-hot, and physical,
You hold it in your belly, while your chest hurts,
And you can't breathe for crying,
And you feel like dying,
The rejection of your heart feels brutal,
And impossible to fathom,
It's like a murder,
A slaughtering of part of your heart,
That you will never get back.
But if you are lucky,
That damaged piece of love can be nurtured by somebody new,
It can be delicately held, by somebody trusted,
Nourished and infused with acceptance,
And massaged and tenderised into something sweet and loving,
Until it is able to love again, without the pain.
About the Creator
Karen Cave
A mum, a friend to many and I love to explore dark themes and taboos in my writing.
Hope you enjoy! I appreciate all likes, comments - and please share if you'd like more people to see my work.
Karen x
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Comments (1)
Such a hopeful post. Nicely written, Karen.