"He broke my heart" he said, "In a million little pieces."
Heads lopped down necks like drops of melting cream; lips stretched to the sides colliding with cheeks but the teeth remained hidden; others merged their eye-brows on the top of their nose, making way for a third-eye; his own mum took a deep breath and licked her lips like bitter lollipop; his best friend didn't adhere to the awkward silence and shot:
"Well, your crystal heart is still here sweetie. Awwww... Here, feel it, beating, in good shape."
The others joined in: "Awww... Give it time, yes, give it time! Men are bastards in any case!"
What he couldn't say and what formed itself as a silenced cancerous lump in his throat was that it was not so much about his heart. The latter was indeed still there, in one piece, blistering like red coal. But it was his spirit that was broken-- his optimism, the joys of waking up to a new day: the feel of the pillow cover against his cheeks, the swooning aroma of green tea in his nostrils, the buckling sound of his belt with a last glance at the mirror...
No, his heart was not a crystal piece that was shattered and would grotesquely be glued back together. No... It was his spirit that had whiled away, in a million little pieces, like invisible forsaken ashes to the whims of the gray winds.
Heads lopped down necks like drops of melting cream; lips stretched to the sides colliding with cheeks but the teeth remained hidden; others merged their eye-brows on the top of their nose, making way for a third-eye; his own mum took a deep breath and licked her lips like bitter lollipop; his best friend didn't adhere to the awkward silence and shot:
"Well, your crystal heart is still here sweetie. Awwww... Here, feel it, beating, in good shape."
The others joined in: "Awww... Give it time, yes, give it time! Men are bastards in any case!"
What he couldn't say and what formed itself as a silenced cancerous lump in his throat was that it was not so much about his heart. The latter was indeed still there, in one piece, blistering like red coal. But it was his spirit that was broken-- his optimism, the joys of waking up to a new day: the feel of the pillow cover against his cheeks, the swooning aroma of green tea in his nostrils, the buckling sound of his belt with a last glance at the mirror...
No, his heart was not a crystal piece that was shattered and would grotesquely be glued back together. No... It was his spirit that had whiled away, in a million little pieces, like invisible forsaken ashes to the whims of the gray winds.
6 comments:
i like the way you describe the images. i also like the new header image. what is it, or am i failing to see something very obvious?
do comment..thanks..
deepak
I recognise the image now! I knew I had seen it before. I really liked the song in that film. Although, overall, I thought "Shortbus" was a much more enjoyable and oddly profound film.
I like your writing style here. The closing line in particular captures, for me at least, an emotion (or lack thereof) that's very difficult to word and that I, now, have resorted to describing with blank spaces in my journal or, once, in my blog. But your wording of it is so accurate.
Michael.
i hadn't, but now that you've mentioned that film (and i've been hearing the mention here and there for a while), i think i'll download it and watch. and then we could have a conversation, since you're back on a hedwig and the angry inch trip, it seems!
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