My Heart, My Soul, You Tore It

The rain came in sideways, a bitter wind whipping through the alley, rattling trash cans and neon signs. I stood under the awning of a convenience store that smelled like stale cigarettes and regret, watching the world blur through a sheet of water. I lit a cigarette and tried not to think about you.

You tore it. Ripped it right out of me, piece by piece. My heart. My soul. All the things I was stupid enough to give you, thinking they meant something, thinking I meant something. And now I’m here, shivering in the cold, waiting for a sunrise that won’t fix anything, because some things can’t be fixed.

I tried to understand it. God, I tried. Put it under a microscope, dissected every word, every glance, every half-smile you threw my way like a bone to a starving dog. But the more I looked, the less sense it made, and the angrier I got. Angry at you, angry at myself, angry at the world for spinning on like nothing happened. Like you didn’t destroy me.

It’s circles. Endless loops. Love, hate, longing, despair—spinning around and around like a broken record. I keep coming back to the same questions, the same memories, the same pain. I call it quad-polar love, because it pulls me in every direction at once, leaving me dizzy and shattered. There’s the rush of infatuation, that god-like feeling of invincibility, when you looked at me like I was the only thing in the world. Then the anger, burning through me like fire, when I realized it was all a lie. The guilt that came after, whispering that I should’ve known better, that I should’ve seen it coming. And then the darkness, the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone and you’re not coming back.

I remember that night on the pier, the salt air heavy and wet, the ocean crashing against the rocks. You stood there, silhouetted against the moonlight, looking at me with those eyes that made me believe in forever. I was stupid then. I thought I could keep you, thought I could be enough. But you were already halfway gone, drifting on the wind, and I was too blind to see it.

Now it’s all ghosts and shadows. I see you everywhere—in the corner of my eye, in the laugh of a stranger, in the face of the moon when it’s full and aching. I chase those ghosts through the city, looking for pieces of you in every alley, every bar, every broken promise. I take photos I can’t look at, try to capture what’s left of you in pixels and light. But it’s never enough. It’s never real.

Spring is coming. I feel it in the air, the way the wind’s losing its bite, the way the earth is starting to thaw. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re gone, and you took the warmth with you. I think about fishing, about casting a line into dark waters, waiting for something to bite, to pull me out of this hell. I think about rollerblading through the city, chasing the sun, running from the pain. But it follows me, no matter how fast I go.

Sunrise. Sunset. Round and round. I keep waiting for the day it stops hurting, but it never does. Maybe it never will. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe some loves are meant to break you, to tear you apart so completely that you’re never the same. You did that to me. My heart. My soul. You tore it. And all that’s left is the echo of your name, bouncing around in my empty chest.

I stood there, the cigarette burning down to my fingers, the rain washing the world clean. But not me. Never me. I dropped the cigarette, watched it fizzle out in the puddle at my feet, and walked away. I didn’t look back.