Me Into Pieces
A thousand pieces that still fit perfectly together
when you let go.
The curse of the broken heart is like no other. It is like no other break. You can't slap a cast on it and let it heal. The problem is that we have a hard time getting that damn cast secured on there. We prolong the break, leaving the break exposed in the open air, so it can't heal.
Love is like no other because it is the ultimate high. By getting that ultimate high, you have to sign a waiver that says it might work the other way, as well. The most exuberant of feelings can also leave you battered and bruised on railroad tracks hoping just maybe a train will come.
How foolish of us, as young women, to think that there is only one guy in the whole world who can make us feel good? How foolish of us to think that the one who broke our heart is "the one". Why would he be? It's almost comical to think of what we put ourselves through. No matter how ridiculous it looks on paper, we all fall into this doomed sticky mess at some point. Even the most powerful of women walking around Wall Street or Fashion Ave or strutting around Hollywood, cannot avoid this fate.
Once your heart breaks, it bleeds all over your perfect world and you see it much differently. It's still the same game-board but with different rules, now.
Will you let go, so I can heal?
You must exit the stage, for my show to go on.