Wash away an obliterated heart. Leave it alone to beat its last thump. Yet, the heart wishes to be seen, understood, accepted, loved. But loved, it never was. Ever a dream and ever a thought, and still this heart strives for it.

This youthful heart stuck inside me… Wash it away. Drown it. Disintegrate all the memories. Wash away the cries. Mute everything. “Save me”, the heart echoes. Unheard. The heart is too deep under the sea of loss, loneliness, and pains building higher and higher. I am an old memory. I am forgotten. Ever forgotten. I am breathing and alive, yet dead inside. I am silenced. But you, my trusting journal, are my voice and only confidant.

Resurrect my heart, my hopes of a dream called “True Love”–that not all men are cruel, heartless, fake, ungentlemanly, players, and little boys. That I will be valued for all that I am. Reinvigorate my dead heart and muted emotions. Embrace my destroyed heart with real love, commitment, honesty, faithfulness, and loyalty. Swathe my heart with warm compassion, understanding, respect, and acceptance. Give me hope. But all this, too, is a dream. Ever a dream. I once held a beautiful dream, but it fled under the heavy weight of blinding misunderstandings. How amusing I must be, journal. I must be so with a heart that’s trampled at every turn wherever I may tread. Ever I am a mere convenience.

I am free, yes, but I am shackled within. I am a prisoner to a dead heart and to memories that will ever linger. I am a prisoner to the last breaths of my feelings and to a loneliness that ever hunts me and ever finds me. That has been my fate and Curse. Each day, dear journal, I stand upon my porch in the endless dark with eyes fixed to the night sky, seeking solace in the dancing stars, for they are my counselors, my witnesses to a vulnerable heart, and the bearers of my secrets.

The days wax and wane. Time flows ever onward. I tread alongside Life with a content outlook, for I am free to spread my wings and fly the highest. The changes come crashing in. They are welcoming, for they were dreams of a successful life this heart hoped to touch. I am renewed, stronger, wiser, more cautious. But there is a permanent gaping hole in this heart that lies mute and dead. There is an ever gaping hole in my life. These gaps feel like torn pages from a book. Like missing gaps in one’s memories, what was ripped away cannot be pasted back in. The pieces will not be the same, for so much has warped it beyond recognition and familiarity. Even so, like a fool, this one trudges on and still hopes and believes.

One day. When all the suffocating darkness fades away and the warm light returns to touch a frozen heart, all will be as it ought to have been but stronger and better. There will be understanding. The fog will be cleared away. One day. All will be well again. Till then, walk veering and various paths to find one’s self, one’s soul, and one’s purpose in life. To cleanse, to think, to remember, to learn, to grow. And then, the paths will converge once more. Home.

So, here I will remain in life, dear journal, unseen and mute behind the lines. Pages will be written to clear a cluttered mind and bring sense to complex thoughts. I shall live and live well, wading through my accomplished dreams. But constantly I’ll be pretending to be fine when I know too well I am fooling myself. What my heart seeks and asks for is simple, but it is long dead in this world. Naught more than a dream. I am a prisoner shackled to my memories and heart, forever to remember everything and every feeling and to watch. Alone. And now with a heart bandaged by cleared thoughts, wash away everything, dear journal, and tear this page from my heart.