Novel & Cerita Break Break Break Break Your Heart

He then put on his guitar and started singing. "ITS YOU, IT'S ALWAYS YOU... IF I'M EVER GONNA FALL IN LOVE I KNOW IT'S GONNA BE YOU IT'S YOU... IT'S ALWAYS YOU MET A LOT OF PEOPLE BUT NOBODY FEELS LIKE YOU SO PLEASE DON'T BREAK MY HEART DON'T TEAR ME APART I KNOW HOW IT STARTS TRUST ME I BEEN BROKEN BEFORE DON'T BREAK ME AGAIN I AM DELICATE PLEASE DON'T BREAK MY HEART TRUST ME I BEEN BROKEN BEFORE

Even if I have to break her heart all over again to do it. *****

"I'm sorry. I know that what I did was wrong. Can't we go back to how we used to be back then?" I looked at her and lightly shook my head. "We can never go back, Queenie Blackrose," I replied. "From the moment you posted the first photo of you and him on your Instagram account and chose to lie to me, we could never, ever go back to the past again." Misty sighed and said, "Nessie, know that trust, once broken, can never be put back together again."

"Cassidy, when we made this mug, you said after we got married, we'd make a smaller one for our child. Do you still remember?" "I remember." "Then would you give me one more shot? I can wait for you to break up with him." As he said those words, his voice started to falter with emotion. I gazed at him silently, then slowly walked up to him and took the mug from his hands. Under his incredulous stare, I smashed it into bits. "There. Now that the mug is broken and the baby is gone, it's time you stopped fooling yourself." With that, I walked forward, stepping on shards in the process.

I couldn't find a single word to say. Hearing my quiet sobs, Diego's tone softened. "Hey, why are you crying? The principal position is gone, but there's still a place for you here. Just come back." Listening to his reassurance, my tears flowed even harder. Five years ago, I played Chopin's "The Farewell Waltz" in this piano shop. I never imagined that the sadness in the music would someday mirror my heartbreak, as if everything had been destined. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from my lawyer. "Ms. Tucker, your divorce documents are ready and have been sent to your email. Please check them at your convenience."

“I had three children looking at me. Waiting for me to be strong.” He set his cup down on the table carefully. “I know I hurt you.” I turned back to face him. “Do you?” I asked. He swallowed. “Yes.” I walked closer again, stopping just a few steps away from him. “My heart was broken,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Not cracked. Not slightly damaged. Broken.” His jaw tightened. “Can you tell me something?” I continued. He nodded slowly. “If a glass breaks… if it shatters into pieces… can you put it back together and make it look the same again?”

The tightness in my chest was indescribable. Of all times, why did someone like him show up when my heart had been shattered? I couldn't give him any promises. The last nine years had worn down my ability to love someone. Would I step into another relationship just to be let down again? Promises were only meaningful when there was love. I couldn't give empty promises like Tyler. Fortunately, nothing had happened between Matthias and I yet. All we shared was that kiss on the night that I was drunk.

The moment she said, “I don’t love you,” I felt the heart that was previously happy inside of me crack. It didn’t give a dramatic sound like the shatter of glass, but the quiet, brutal kind of break you only feel in your chest when the air suddenly refuses to move through your lungs due to external forces caused by an unpalatable situation.

"I'm sorry Charity, I won't be going to the victim's home today. Something came up. We'll go some other time" I think the phrase, shattering of heart is a bit too underrated and considered too literal, used in literary works and in certain kind of situations to prove how pleasant our grasp of good grammar is cause I can testify that my heart practically broke into a million pieces that all the glue in the world wouldn’t even dare put together if they tried as I read through Detective Roman's message that morning.

Up in the glass box, Eve’s monitor flashed a critical warning. **HEART RATE: 202 BPM.** Terry didn't just feel the insult; he felt the universe tilt on its axis. It wasn't the attack on his hockey career. It wasn't the cheap shots to his knee. It was the vile, calculated desecration of Eve—the woman who had bared her soul to him in the quiet sanctuary of the penthouse, the brilliant, fiercely independent mind reduced to a corporate pawn by men who didn't deserve to speak her name.