A Guarded Heart

I once had a family, but we never had children, though I wanted them deeply. The woman I loved fell out of love with me, and that was how my heart broke. Every time love came back around, I ran from it. I stopped trusting people. I know it isn’t wise, but fear rarely is. I was afraid of breaking again. Sometimes you love someone fully, and when life becomes heavy, they forget about you. “Maybe they’re just busy,” you tell yourself. Or maybe they don’t forget at all— they forget to remember. I don’t think people mean to forget. I think, sometimes, it just happens. Now I’m not afraid of love itself. I’m afraid of missing someone, of reliving the ache, of shattering what’s left of my heart. If you’re going to use your heart anyway, what difference does it make if it breaks? So you guard it. You hide it. You keep it to yourself. Still, they tell you to take the chance. After all— you have nothing left to lose. Cushite