Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Broken heart still beats.

Though getting my heart broken feels like I'm already dying inside, the truth is I'm still alive and breathing and yearning and hurting and loving. My heart, no matter how many pieces there are at the moment, it's still beating. Painfully. Throbbing. Still beating. 

What can I do? I guess no matter how hard I try to control my feelings, I will always be the girl who loves hard. I'll always be that girl who does more, gives more, loves more, and hurts more. I will always be that girl. 

Someone told me yesterday that the person who loved more is usually the person that's more hurt. More broken. More devastated. More wounded. On the other hand, the person who ends up filled with regrets is the person who loved less. I don't know if it's true but I'd like to think and believe that it is. However, I realized that the intensity of pain is not in anyway correlated to whether you loved more or loved less because when two people decide to part ways, both will feel the pain that parting entails. Because pain is a diva like that... It demands to be felt.

In experiencing pain, there is always the question of whether or not you fought the right battle. And everyday, I ask myself this question. Maybe no, maybe yes. But does it really matter? My only point here is that not all those who were wounded picked the right battle. Or maybe, just maybe, they picked the right battle but fought too hard and too long. Like me. Because my heart, no matter how many times it got broken and no matter how broken it is, it still beats. It is still beating. Still loving. Still hurting.



Where is my bed? I want my bed. 

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