I Had To Replace My Zipper Again

My heart is broken. 

It's been shattered, torn out, trampled on, soaked with tears, stabbed, and sewn back together. 

73 beats per minute, give or take a few.

The words you said did not carve into my heart and pass through my veins, although, that's what it felt like. Really, it's just an organ and it cannot feel in that way. 

My heart is not literally broken, but I think we like to name the pain and know where it comes from.  Because when we were little and our mom asked where it hurt, we would point to the scrape on our elbow.. So now they ask "where does it hurt?" And I point to my heart because it feels broken. I point to my brain because it won't stop rattling off depreciating thoughts and memories of us. I point to my lungs because I cry so hard I can't breathe. I point to my stomach because it's tied in knots. I point to my blood shot eyes. I point to the hands that won't stop shaking. I point to my soul because everything feels wrong without you here. but I'm grateful I don't have to point to my wrists. 

I think we're all waiting for someone to read in between the lines. And in between my lines it reads HEARTBROKEN, it reads LONELY, it reads DEJECTED, it reads MISERABLE, it reads DAMAGED. But it also reads STRONG.

So if my heart is not literally broken then why does it feel like there's a hole in my chest?

When you left it's like you ripped out my zipper and I can't put myself back together now. All I'm left with is useless zipper teeth and broken threads, but there's a gaping hole that reminds me of when you decided I was no longer good for you. And do you know how to fix a broken zipper? You have to remove it, thread by thread pulled out of its bearings. My first thread was changing the background on my phone so it was no longer a picture of us. The second thread I pulled out was changing your contact name to just your name and taking off the heart. The third thread was taking all your stuff, putting it in a box and dropping it off at your house.

And you know, even after you put in the new zipper, your still left with Dozens of pin holes where the threads used to be, and you have the raw bleeding scars from where you put the needle in over and over to pull the new thread through. And the first time you zip up the new zipper, it kills, you go slow because your scared it might rip out if you go too fast. But you zip it, little by little, it reminds you of the pain of the whole process, but mostly it reminds you of him leaving.