The pain was there. It was relentless. Pounding away at him. Sometimes the pain would subside momentarily, briefly, before returning with a vengeance, angrily biting into him with sharp fangs, not letting go.
Sometimes the pain was so strong it numbed him of the ability to feel at all, the world swirling around him like he was hallucinating, as if he was in a world that he didn’t quite understand, as if dreaming.
His chest felt heavy from it all, having had to handle all the pain, all the suffering. He felt his pain weighing him down, as if he had twenty pound weights inside him. His black heart pounded within him angrily, continuing to trouble him.
He took a deep breath, trying to rid himself of his thoughts, of his pain.
He wasn’t always unhappy. He had a good life once. He was in love. Love. He would do everything for her, he was always there for her when she needed him, always supported her, comforted her. He genuinely cared for her in so many ways.
But she never felt the same way. Never felt the same love. Or if she did, she shrugged it away like it was irrelevant, like it was something unimportant; like he was not worth thinking about, like it was not worth considering the sacrifices he had made.
It stung, but he continued to love her, continued to care for her, obsessively at times.
He had always ensured that she was safe, that she was okay, and all he got in return was regret, as she went away with someone else, as she turned her back on him, as if he wasn’t worth her time, as if he were an inconvenience. There wasn’t a single time he considered his own interests over hers.
She used him. He knew this now. Yet he still loved her, in some crooked, messed up way. He would still chase her around like she were a dog running around the house, desperately wanting to catch her, hoping she changed her mind. But she never did.
He stood up suddenly, shrugging away the thoughts, the pain; trying to cleanse himself of the darkness within. He felt the stubble on his chin, having not shaved for days.
He looked in the mirror, his eyes red and bloodshot from the lack of sleep, his brown hair a crumpled mess, swaying in all directions wildly, his beard rough and angry.
He looked like a disaster. He knew this. She had broken him. She had destroyed his emotions, his mental state having been shaken to the core.
The words she had told him were dark and appalling, dragging him into the murky depths of his emotions. He could not believe the words, as if they were never even said. But he knew they had been. They couldn’t be taken back.
The words had destroyed him mentally, but he still loved her. Yet he knew he would never love her the same, never with the same passion and desire. It was too late now, too late to go back.
He slapped his face with his hands, the images in his mind slowly dissipating at the sudden shock of returning to reality. He put on his suit, covering his chest, shoulders, hands with the comfort of expensive wool. He adjusted his black tie; feeling annoyed at all the procedures that went around looking nice.
Finally he was ready. He peered into the mirror, noticing the paradox. His face was shrivelled and gross, starkly contrasting the pureness of the suit, the elegance of his dress pants, his tie sharp and perfectly vertical.
He felt like he was an extension of himself, as if it were someone else wearing the suit and tie and not him.
Suddenly he heard the car horn outside, the taxi having arrived. Quickly he put on his shoes and headed outside, locking the door behind him.
He entered the taxi, the driver speeding away immediately. He scanned out the window, noticing the quiet streets, the peacefulness of the world, the trees swaying gently from a calm breeze.
Suddenly his thoughts returned again, the pain swallowing him up inside. He felt the darkness inside his heart again, as if black ink had stained his heart. How he had loved her; how he had loved her.
His eyes began to tear up suddenly, finally feeling overwhelmed from all the pain, all the suffering, all the sadness. He glanced away the tears with the back of his hand, and a moment later the tears ceased to fall.
Finally the taxi arrived at the destination. He paid the driver, tipping him generously, and exited out the car, simultaneously grabbing the bottom of his suit as he got out.
He walked forward, trying to remain confident, trying not to let his emotions take over, like a virus spreading across all areas of his body.
He walked straight, feeling the burdens on his shoulders trying to weigh him down, but he didn’t shift. He continued on, confidently.
Finally he reached the area, the destination of the event. He noticed the others around him, their eyes also bloodshot and tired, as they walked around slowly, as if zombies with limited mobility.
He suddenly felt numb, unable to move, his legs as if stuck in the ground. There it was. There she was.
He looked down, his chest again heavy, his heart pounding with sadness and darkness. There she was. Unmoving.
She was wearing a pink floral dress, her eyes closed, her arms crossed, bright red roses were placed on her chest. Her body was pale white, unmoving, cramped into a little box.
The casket was open, but she was gone. Out of his life. For good. He again glanced down, hoping that she would suddenly wake up, but she didn’t. He wanted so desperately to grab her, hold onto her, somehow wake her from the tragedy, but he knew it would only make it hurt more.
He watched her, the sunlight shining from above. She was beautiful. Even when she was so lifeless, she radiated energy.
How he loved her. He had always loved her. Even after everything she had done, had said; he still loved her deeply. How could he let go?
He placed a hand over his chest as he watched her, feeling his pulsating heart, his broken heart, his black heart.
