There's nothing worse than a broken heart.
That's what I used to think. But now I know better. The truth is, there is nothing worse than a secret broken heart.
Secret. As in, something you've never told anyone. A wish. A dream. A barely whispered prayer.
I've had this secret "other" life that I dreamed I would live. And yesterday, though I knew it was coming for a long time, if finally hit me. I'm never gonna have that life. And I just fell apart.
It isn't that my life isn't heavenly. I mean, it's divine. I am in a passionate and fulfilling marriage. I have darling children. I have the love and support of so many friends. But one thing is off. One thing will never be right. And I'm broken hearted about it. What's worse is I can't explain more than this. It would ruin how sacred this dream was to me.
So I have a secret broken heart. And I've written it a poem.
There's an edge in my attitude and my eyes don't sparkle as much, it seems.
My stature has lost its confidence; my laughter it's familiar ring.
How do you let go when memories that made you laugh, now make you cry.
And how do you mourn a dream of what you hoped would be
when it escapes you like a sigh?
I'm tired of saying I'm fine.
I'm more tired of pretending to be.
I didn't know that it'd be like this from the start.
Didn't know it would kill me to have a secret broken heart.
But the words you wrote, you spoke, you sang, you whispered ...
They haunt me. They won't leave me alone.
And I don't want them to leave alone.
I want it not to hurt.
I want it to be okay.
I want to go back to make you see--to make you stay.
Stay with me. How you are.
Because I'm fine with imperfection
It makes you perfect for me.
But how do I make you see when who you are is nothing but a memory,
a dream, an illusion--to me.
I'm so damn tired of saying I'm fine--more so of pretending to be.
I'm not alright.
I am broken.
And my secret broken heart is might kill me.
What do you do, when dreams don't come true?
When they divide you? When they break you?