I’m the walking wounded. But no one can see my scars. No one can see the pain I live with day in and day out. No one will whisper to a friend “That’s that poor girl who lost her child…tsk tsk.”
No one can hear my heart breaking with each and every breath I take.
Instead of pain, they see what they choose to see. But, to him…to him I was all things. And I’d failed him.
Physical pain can be dealt with. You slap a band-aid over the wound and you move on. Psychic pain is a whole other animal. Tell me, do they make band-aids for broken hearts???
The day turned a bleak shade of gray as I walked along our street to the corner store.
I picked out my usual. A bag of Twizzlers and a diet Pepsi.
I barely noticed the familiar discomfort of the rain when it began. I was too busy feeling my heart break for the 1000th time that day. Band-aids for hearts…now THERE is an idea who’s time has come. Wonder if I could patent it, I’d probably make a killing.