What becomes of the broken-hearted?
I guess it matters who they are.
An artist? Masterpieces.
An existentialist? Epiphanies.
A physicist? Reality.

I miss you the way I miss the time we were alive in.

My heart longs for you and my innocence in the same manner.

My stomach twists in contempt for every feeling that you don’t give me.

Don’t you see?
The loss of innocence is
so
much
more
than paying bills and paying for gas.
So
much
more
than taking a pill every night and needing to have a plan.
It’s
losing the ability to hear a high pitch that is both pleasing and displeasing.
It’s
not enjoying an education with the cost in mind.
It’s
knowing.

Knowing your sister is probably depressed
and your mother is, too.
Knowing there’s no safe shot to a simple destination.
And worst of all,
It’s
Knowing that love is something you learned about when you were
innocent
and with the high-pitched frequency.
It’s
Gone.