Broken heart is quite a word for a position of the flesh that makes us hurt many times, I say that, and then it becomes two words linked to each other; broken and heart. When you have to bear it the hurting, just about everyday, you start to wonder, wonder if you’re the only existence to bear so much pain and burden all on your shoulders not knowing what you have done so wrong so mean to deserve it. Being involved in what doesn’t really belong to you might be the reason, and thinking so makes you go to the path of thinking it the way that not a sole thing must belong to you, That not being even once an owner makes you become the one who is not able to be one. Ok we do not expect people, but what about the time that two becomes one? One shouldn’t expect his own or be expected? I know twos that are lonesome, even a whole community can be like that, a lonely community begins to show the symptoms of its disease in the form of its individuals being lonely and feeling so. All these shows me a path to go, and that is to attempt to make a somehow married society and putting myself in that situation so that I wouldn’t feel alone, but after all my efforts the only thing that is occurring is my constant feeling of emptiness, then nobody is what I am. There is pain, how can that be true? Maybe I should begin to write about empty pain rather than writing about the broken heart, because I should assume that my experiences of being humiliated by all the society have caused all this, or maybe being humiliated by the individuals whom I loved as my share of the whole. Easily I’ve became the one whom I dearly loved and I just got killed much more easier, and saying so giving me more pain and pure suffering when there is pain affirmed, there is my being, I’m living through levels of suffering without no disappearing. Once my appearance could be you, and your mine, now that you resist my existence I no longer feel, as I have lost my sense of touching. You lost it, we wanted it, I was there, I felt to appear, you didn’t feel like it. You despised our appearance as one, I lost a big part of me, do not murder it, by the way I try to remember it but the pain is what my lips can read as if you’re pulling the knife out of my body and I can only watch, do not leave me alone on my dying ground. If you tell me there is no me after me as alternative of my disposition that would a complete murdering. when our hands are tied, when our hands are busy holding eachother, does it matter to know the time?
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