Pain Shouldn’t Be Romanticized

Christopher Windus

I’m falling apart, and it’s not the romanticized kind.

It’s not poetic or tragically beautiful or whatever the hell people naively think brokenness is. It’s when the apocalypse hits, and blinding light and foretold destruction rips the world and humankind apart in a matter of seconds – everything turning to rubble and smoke and death.

It’s the kind of falling apart that when you’re bent over and clutching your chest, trying to suck it in and not cry, but it’s like he took a match to your skin and left you burning alive and you can’t help but let out a strangled gasp and everything hurts like hell, more than hell.

It’s the kind of falling apart that is unwitting, that is unintended and sudden yet inevitable because good things were never made to last and god, I should’ve learned that by now, but I hadn’t. I haven’t.

They say all the broken hearts are still beating, but I’m not even sure if mine still is. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

I’m a plant mom, and I go to a coffee shop every Saturday.

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