I listen, reverently, to plain and popular songs; trying to remind myself how these things feel. I don't know about brokenheartedness, or whatever else you may refer to a heart for.
Maybe once I did; I can't even remember, I rewrite myself as I go along, I think once I tried to name thoughts according to what I thought I was supposed to feel, I think I know what it's like to lose, but not as in losing someone else; losing myself, losing my self respect, those are losses I know.
Maybe once I thought I loved; maybe I am full of lies; maybe it is as I think it is, I have been taken, distracted, surprised, tired, I have given and sought comfort, I have been aggressive, I have tried, I have wanted, wanted, but it has never gone deeper than the way anything will sting deep when you are fifteen.
I look at the year's first snow and I hear a piano in my head, I feel a six year old cold wind on my face, where I once stood waiting for a man, back when I still thought I knew how to feel, when I thought all sorts of shit mattered; so what if the pub played Galore all night long, so what if I fell asleep holding someone's hand; the memory is there but I can't remember why I ever wanted to save it.