things just never change...

it was cold outside. there was really nothing exciting about taking our coffee out there into the cold and pretending my town was absolutely exciting. it isn't, at least not after the month of september. we're one of your more than swanky tourists towns. we're the kind of town that is slightly exciting on a saturday in october but more exciting on a friday in july.

so we sat across from each other at an abnormally small table pretending to be extremely interested in the coffee we held between our october frozen hands. it took about five minutes but he started the conversation i was dreading.

"are you ok?" he asked when i finally gave in and i met his eyes for a few minutes.

"i'm sick. i'm sad. no."

he nodded and continued drinking. i could hear the liquid pass through his throat, even over the low moan of elevator music that played in the background.

"do you want to talk about it?"

i glared as hard as i could but in my sick and pathetic state it just looked as if i was going to cry. his hand jolted across the table and landed on the inside of my elbow. the expression on my face softened as his hand squeezed through my coat, sweater and t-shirt. but as he pulled away the pain returned to the lines across my forehead.

before he could continue to ask me questions i was up and out of my seat. my feet moved quickly down the dark green steps to the almost empty main street of my town. i could hear him behind me, moving slowly down the stairs, zipping up his jacket.

"i'm still here," he whispered into my ear, wrapping his arm around my waist.

i nodded and we walked. he was always there. i guess it's nice to know that sometimes.. things just never change.

return to sender? address unknown?

perhaps the breaking of the heart is a longer process then i made it out to be.

today was a pretty good day. i didn't cry [except of course during ER because i always cry during ER] at all over my stupid little pain. in fact other then writing about it i never really thought about it.

i just worked. perhaps thats the way i deal with my pain is to work. i know dianne, my boss, would be happy to know that because of my broken heart she got 4.5 hours of work in a little over 3. but after all the work was done i was alone with my thoughts.

but even that empty alone feeling didn't lead me to any sorrow or pain over my broken heart.

then it all came crashing down over me. the tidal wave after the tidal wave.

he decided to take my heart again and ship it around the world. all in the span of about 4 days he succeeded in breaking my heart twice. this time was more indirect. this time he didn't say anything to me except to tell me how he got some girl pregnant, again. of course the first time she got an abortion and didnt' tell him until about 6 months later?

i so want to call him stupid because some how this girl is the fucking virgin mary and has concieved two of his babies through condoms OH and the little fact that he was/is sterile [or so he told me].

somehow i find it in my heart to forgive him.. because he's in love with her and is blind to what everyone else can see..

but apparently.. so am i.

he put my heart in a box and shipped it to burma.

i got a broken heart for my birthday. i real broken heart. it wasn't wrapped though because it was my heart. i mean who wraps things they borrowed from other people? no one. i was just handed my broken heart and i watched silently as the boy dug into my chest with his rusty shovel [not spoon, shovel] and left me a hole to fill. the pain didn't seem to come until many hours later and perhaps even a day later.. but when it came, trust me it hurt.

the pain washed over my skin like a tidal wave on the banks of china when the meteor hits in that crazy movie armageddon. there was nothing but the pain. just the pain. i watched it crawl in my pores and try to suffocate my lungs. it ate at my skin and nestled itself in my hair. there was nothing i could do but wait for the pain to wash itself away.

as the pain washes away i am left with the small shell of myself. my battered ego and tear stained cheeks are all i have to show for the battle i waged against the pain. the screaming could be heard for miles but the aftermath of our battle left only tears on my sheets and cuts on my skin.

for days i didn't sleep. i would say the words to people "i'm going to sleep" so there was really no worry. no reason to worry about yana. it's just a litle broken heart. nothing to worry about. but instead i would walk around my big back yard, press dying leaves into my palms and cry silent tears into my warm sweatshirts. i would stay out there for hours and sleep in the afternoon with as much noise as i could create. the noise kept the voices in my head from reminding me of the pain. the horrible.. horrible pain.

the whole world has told me to move on and i'm trying.

i sat brushing up on my italian with a boy i hardly knew the other day. i had to because soon my mother is stealing me away to visit aunts, uncles and great italian paintings. as i remembed key phrases and insults i laughed. i laughed. a real laugh. the kind of laugh that comes from the bottom of your stomach. it filled my quiet room with joy... not pain.

he sat for hours teaching me things in reality i already knew. including that my pain was not so bad. he listened to me intently with his piercing green eyes and he nodded intelligent nods and he let me get it all out. perhaps strangers are the people who teach you the most with out really knowing it. despite all the conversations i'd had with close friends and all the hours i spent trying to make sense of my pain with sam.. it took a stranger to make sense ot if all.. a plain and simple stranger who taught me how to say "come give mamma a big hug!" in italian.

it was hours after he left [when i fell asleep for real in my bed] that i realized .. i realized that my almost dying heart in the corner of my room under my contaminated bed needed me to stop the pain and find real joy..

so.. i am.

test?