when you had your heart broken, time unconsciously stopped for you.
so it's no surprise that for certain pairs of eyes, you're always be eight. or fourteen. or nineteen. or twenty one. and the bigger universe sees you, still, as a passer by.
when you had your heart broken, you blindfold yourself with what so called 'a cancelled future'.
it is indeed a future. it's just not yours.
you know that very well, but nonetheless you marked it. with the permanent marker.
(but, you see, in actual world it was untouchable. nor temporary marker, nor permanent one, could ever left a dot.)
when you had your heart broken, you wrote as much on your journal, thinking it was a therapy.
but there's no such thing a therapy for broken heart, is it? well, pragmatically it's broken.
you don't do therapy for a broken heart. you just wiped off the pieces, clean the dusts, and make up the mess. and all you need, is really, blank papers and ink. or pencil, without an eraser.
when you had your heart broken, you just can't trust people's eyes.
simply because you're too afraid to find a place of escape on them.
because, you know, running away from a broken heart, your heart that is, is way too much.
when you had your heart broken, it might be a clarity.
a clearance of all doubts. a cleaning of all unspoken self-hatred.
a serene vision towards a quietly-queuing-in-line future.
#notes : this post was meant to be something fictional, a proof of too much listening to Coldplay's Ghost Stories, Taeyang's Rise, Gorillaz's On Melancholy Hills, and Damon Albarn's Lonely Press Play & Heavy Seas of Love.