Pain stabs my chest, and I wonder if a person’s heart can really break. Probably. The word brokenhearted had to come from somewhere. I imagine my heart busted into a dozen glassy red pieces, their hard, jagged edges stabbing into my flesh at every beat. It may not be scientific, but it matches what I feel. Part of me thinks I will die right now, bleeding out on the inside. But it isn’t going to be that simple.
