In other people we see reflections of ourselves. When we get to know somebody, all the little quirks of their character leave a mark on our being, every moment spent with another person carves deep into our soul. We associate our identity with someone else’s, even if it’s for a split second. Everything someone else does, we try it on, and let our persona become one with someone else’s, united in a bizarre dance. That’s why it hurts so much to lose someone we held dear. For every second spent together the lines of oneself blurred further and that other person became us. We never lose friends, lovers, relatives, or even acquaintances. We lose parts of what we call “I”.
We look for someone we can identify with, people who we have something in common with. However, if we connect with someone too much, we push away for a very simple reason: when we lose them, we will lose ourselves. What does one do when their whole identity is just gone? Living its own life? “Betrayal” doesn’t even begin to describe it. It’s not heartbreak. It’s death.
We die a little every time somebody breaks our heart. Every time somebody walks away, forgets about us, stabs us in the back, every time somebody has to leave or die. We die a little with every tear shed over losing a dear one.
Then, somebody else comes and takes their place. A new piece is put in instead of a lost one. It might not fit perfectly, but it hurts less than before. We deal, and with time the new piece is sewed onto our soul so tight, that once it breaks off, we bleed and bleed and bleed.
We try to get rid of the pain by sharing our broken pieces with others. We say “Hey, I’ve got half a soul, and you’ve got half a being too, let’s join them and be one complete person together!”
Somehow that never works.
They say one can’t write about love without experiencing it. A kid can sing about death, loss, happiness, anything without experiencing it, but he or she can’t sing about love. The fakeness will show. Have you ever felt like a full person, disabled, but whole nonetheless? If you haven’t, you can’t imagine it. You can only recreate your pain and paint art with the blood coming out from the holes.
We are like broken mirrors, picking up pieces that don’t always fit.
We look for someone we can identify with, people who we have something in common with. However, if we connect with someone too much, we push away for a very simple reason: when we lose them, we will lose ourselves. What does one do when their whole identity is just gone? Living its own life? “Betrayal” doesn’t even begin to describe it. It’s not heartbreak. It’s death.
We die a little every time somebody breaks our heart. Every time somebody walks away, forgets about us, stabs us in the back, every time somebody has to leave or die. We die a little with every tear shed over losing a dear one.
Then, somebody else comes and takes their place. A new piece is put in instead of a lost one. It might not fit perfectly, but it hurts less than before. We deal, and with time the new piece is sewed onto our soul so tight, that once it breaks off, we bleed and bleed and bleed.
We try to get rid of the pain by sharing our broken pieces with others. We say “Hey, I’ve got half a soul, and you’ve got half a being too, let’s join them and be one complete person together!”
Somehow that never works.
They say one can’t write about love without experiencing it. A kid can sing about death, loss, happiness, anything without experiencing it, but he or she can’t sing about love. The fakeness will show. Have you ever felt like a full person, disabled, but whole nonetheless? If you haven’t, you can’t imagine it. You can only recreate your pain and paint art with the blood coming out from the holes.
We are like broken mirrors, picking up pieces that don’t always fit.
