Healing Poem For A Broken Heart 소설 & 이야기

She was supposed to have loved me, not break my heart six days before deployment. They say that a broken heart can heal just as a broken arm or leg. Well, am I not then the opposite of that? My legs are still broken, and so shall my heart remain. She gave me so much happiness; who knew that she could give me just as much pain. Even though my heart is bleeding out, I shall not show her a single tear.

Sometimes, it is caressing every rotten part of your decaying soul, not skipping any inch knowing that every space is poetic enough to slash your wrists and finally breathe. Sometimes, my healing is going back to this little page, looking back, not writing anything at all. . . Because finally, even if things are not fine at all, I am at peace knowing that I am braver and stronger than who I was before. And there are times that my healing is just knowing that some of you may not relate to me anymore because you have been found and I'm left to die alone again. But thank you for all the years you had your pains intertwined with mine. Thank you for staying in all my seasons of highs and lows. Th

Yet, I held steadfast, anchored by the unwavering belief that time and patience could heal even the deepest wounds. In the embrace of our intertwined souls, I vowed to be his steadfast ally, committed to helping him navigate the jagged terrain of his past. Together, we embarked on a journey of healing, a dance between two wounded spirits seeking solace and redemption. And in the embrace of our love, we discovered that even amidst the darkest shadows, a glimmer of light could illuminate the path towards renewal and hope.

Not just lust. No matter how hard it'll be, we will try to hold on; we promised each other. A promise that we shall keep even though certain promises are meant to be broken, we don't want ours to be broken. Hours and hours of being near each other, loving one another, we finally know what its like to heal. We finally understand how our broken hearts can be mended. One weakness. Me calling his name. When we're in bed, of course.

When Ryder comes home, I run to the door without thinking. He laughs. “You look like a dog.” “I missed you.” “It’s been six hours.” “Still.” He kisses my forehead. We make dinner together. I don’t burn anything this time. After we eat, we sit on the floor with our backs against the couch. “Can I tell you something?” I ask. “Always.” “I still feel broken.” He nods. “Healing doesn’t mean unbroken. It means not alone.” I rest my head on his shoulder.

He even convinced the system to play the role of a fictitious first love to deepen the wound. To provoke me even more, the system chose an appearance similar to my eyes. The effect was significant. In the days that followed, it seemed like I was the only one suffering. But in reality, we were torturing each other. Still, there was something strange about me. My love was deep, but my hatred was shallow. So Freddie had no choice but to get rid of the camellia tree we had planted together, the symbol of our bond. When the petals fell, my Heartbreak Level soared to almost 90.

How pathetic. It was nicer when things were just bad… not now that they are worse. Now the worst thing is that if I’m wrong, people get hurt. And even if I’m right, people will still get hurt. I try to cosy up and sleep. ~~~ At 5:12 AM my alarm clock buzzes. I quickly kill it before it can wake the neighbors or better still my mom. I dress in all black. It includes my hoodie, my jeans and my sneakers. I check the burner phone twice, to make sure the files are encrypted and I still check again before leaving. Right now… Paranoia isn’t a feeling anymore, It’s sadly now a habit.

His hand rubbed slow circles on my back, the same grounding touch he’d used since the collapse. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered when the sobs eased. “Be the person I was. Or the person I am with you. Everything feels broken.” “You’re not broken,” he murmured into my hair. “You’re healing. And I’m right here for all of it.”

“But I want you to know I’m still in this.” “I do,” I whisper back. He kisses my forehead, and I feel the tremble in his lips. And I know. This is how healing begins. Not in grand declarations or rushed moments—but in small, sacred ones. Like the touch of a hand. Like the weight of a kiss on skin that once flinched and now welcomes. Like two broken hearts choosing—day by day—to find their way back. Together.

“If a broken crayon can still color, then a broken heart can still love as well.” Her voice resonated loudly inside his head as he tried to recall the beautiful memories. He slowly caressed her hair, and it was such a relief that she didn't dodge or struggle. She just stayed still. “You are right. I started with a broken heart. The trauma I had and the thoughts of people I love leaving made me afraid to fall in love again, but you are the one who made me believe that I could start all over. The more I know you, the deeper I fall in love with you—to the point where I don't even realize that my wound is healing. My heart was frozen, but you melted it.”