what if i told you that
that there are parts of my life 
that move slower 
because you're not in them?

what if i told you that I'm broken and my brain refuses to function,
since you changed?

being broken by you is like reading a story to a deaf child
expecting a smile
or a laugh
or a round of applause
but all that is returned
is a dead stare.

it's like looking for the sunlight in the middle of the night.

it's like playing the piano to a deaf man
in hopes that he'll finally hear,
playing- until your fingers are broken
because all he did was fall asleep.

being broken by you feels like calling your father, who had abandoned you,
for the last time on your 18th,
hoping he'll answer your last call,
but all you heard was: "sorry this number is no longer in service"

it's like repeating your favourite song over and over and over again
because for some reason you're always missing your favourite line.

and i look for you in missed calls and new text messages.
look for you through doorways,
hoping you'll walk through them
saying you're sorry,
and I'd say "It's okay",
as I always did.

being broken is a mother,
telling her son who has turned to drugs and gun to come home,
and he'll look through the window,
but he never opens the door.

he finally does, with a gunshot wound in his chest.
and words rolling of his tongue;
"mommy, I'm sorry"

being broken is me telling you to come home,
indicating to you that I, am home,
but you keep running past the door.

But i pray to God,
that you'll get tired
and stop running
and come home.