Where does it go? Broken love I mean, where does it end up? We all know where true love goes. On your grandma’s mantle next to her porcelain siamese cat collection. If you’re really lucky it floats around Facebook just enough times to eat a hole right through your chest. “She said yes!”. I hate you both. Suddenly Grumpy cat seems like a good drinking buddy.
But where does the broken love go? It’s no fun pressing that “single” status button. I can hear my mom now, ” that was quick, Heather.”
Note to self: stop rushing into love! I wonder though late at night (of course), what do I do with all the photos. My best friend is a huge advocate for the delete option. But I am in those photos too damn it! I want my memories, I also want my music! Where do I put my music?
I hate that entire albums also playback entire nights. Nights filled with screw drivers and broken plates. Nights of corn starch and shaving cream (don’t ask). Or the times he broke down about his father and how he felt responsible for his stroke.
I’m not ready to delete, in fact some nights I still listen to some of those songs. I find comfort in feeling attached still in some way. The love is gone, it stayed behind with the rest of my, our problems that we couldn’t solve.
His socks still roll around in my drawer I can’t wear them. It’s odd really dead love is like mourning in a way. A sort of new romance emerges, but a romance with the memories. They become golden even the ugly parts.
I haven’t quite figured out where broken love goes. In the meantime I’ll keep it in my playlist until it no longer beckons to be played. The socks can go though.