It’s a pain that sits in your gut, in your chest, in your throat, in your fingertips, on your pillow, in your pizza dough. Heartache, love lost, ships sailed, battles lost with the war still ahead.
It’s a sweetness, it’s an education, it’s a disgrace. It’s knowing that the sunshine is just beyond the clouds. It’s the patience demanded daily, the breathe often forgotten, but remaining.
It'll pass, I know. Someday it'll be a distant pang, brought on by the waking of a dormant memory, that will, instead of bringing tears and echo through the hollow, will bring a smile to my face, a warmth to my heart and hopefully, a phone call to a best friend, a forever love.
But for now, it is a broken heart.
The ache therein. Chagrin d'amour.