The Sound of One Heart Breaking

by: Karen Kunawicz

What is the sound of a heart breaking?

It is the sound of someone curled up in a

tiny ball crying softly in the night,

the sound of the first unwanted teardrop

touching your skin, it's the sound of

a telephone that doesn't ring,

the sound of regret

pounding inside your brain

with every heartbeat,

it's the whispers

of the toy animals he gave you.

It's the shuffling of feet

walking away from you,

the sound of your soul shattering

into a million pieces

at recognizing the word "goodbye,"

it’s the soundtrack of memories

torturing you, it's the sound of

feeble hands trying to push back

the obstinate hands of time,

it's the sound of a cherub's

dying breath, the sound of

all those years disappearing

in the vortex of Cupid's kitchen sink,

it's the unrelenting plaintive

baby meows of an abandoned kitten

outside an ignoring door.

It's the sound of the rain

that doesn't ever stop,

the sound of all the doors

shutting and closing in your face

at the same time, of raging,

howling storms in the night

when there's no one there to hold you,

the sound of your voice

as it screams back at you,

the echo of "I love yous"

burning holes in you,

the sound your heart makes

as it tells you to lie still

because nothing you will ever do

will matter without love.

The sound of the waves

of the polluted beach you went to

as it moves from the shore

and crashes inside your mind,

of the sniffles that make up your pathetic

"SOS-to-the-world," the cracking of the

brittle black-red petals

from the sidewalk vendor

roses he gave, the sound of the music

he used to make going to your gut.

The sound of things in your room

being thrown around

and landing on the floor,

the caress of kitchen knives on skin,

the sound your throat makes

as you swallow your saltiest tear.

It's the sound of your own voice

calling out to someone who isn't there,

of dying birds getting splattered

on a city pavement, of terms of endearment

used a hundred times a day

struggling to crawl into a

vacuum of forgetfulness,

it's the sound of your own sobs

keeping you company,

it's the cold, uncaring stillness of the air

you share your space with.

Destruction isn't always as noisy

as bombs exploding.

Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes

are as quiet as a feather

falling on the floor of a Zen monastery.

No one else can really hear

your heart breaking except you.