heartache

dear heart,
physically, in sickness, you've hurt me more times than i can count. you've made me feel the equivalent to a searing hot knife being thrust into my chest, turning around and around like a delicate ballerina on her stage. you've beat so fast that the breath has been knocked out of me and i've forgotten how to breathe, the weight of the world is lounging on my lungs like a broken-in couch. you've made me feel like my chest was going to cave in, every storm cloud raging was creating a vortex in the tangled mess of my ribs. you've made my body hurt from hot dense blood,  a giant oak tree was trying to grow it's branches through my veins. i used to hate you for this, i used to despise you to the point of wanting to cut you out. i see now, what i couldn't see before, you were trying to prepare me for this different kind of heartache. not the heartache from sickness but the heartache that this boy was going to give me. you were trying to save me and get me used to it because then maybe this wouldn't hurt so bad. i just want to say that i appreciate your efforts, but i don't think it worked. i don't think you could of ever done anything to prepare my for this hurt. i would thank you for your efforts to keep me alive, but i'm not so sure i could say it and genuinely mean it.

yours sincerely,
a.e.b.