The Mafia King's Regret
Would always.
The realization followed me to bed, so I buried my face into my pillow and I cried. Cried as I hadn’t done for eight years. Cried as though my heart had been broken all over again, because it had. Because the band-aids I’d used to tape it all back together were coming unglued.
You couldn’t mend a broken heart with band-aids.
A doctor should know better.
So, I cried. I cried and cried and cried, because my broken heart had come apart at its band-aided seams. And when the tears ran out, I lay, hollow and empty, in bed to watch the sun rise through the pale curtains.