Broken, shattered, destroyed...

What does it mean to truly be broken?  Can a person really be shattered?  Is the spirit of a man (or woman) truly able to be destroyed?

I never used to believe in love.  Sure, I've used the word before, I'm sure that everyone else has too but I never really knew what it meant until now.

If you truly love someone, they have the ability to make you feel whole or to break your heart into a million tiny pieces.  If you really do care about someone, they can lift your spirit higher than an eagle flies or bury you so deep that you suffocate under the weight of the pain.

I didn't know that love had such power; I didn't know that a simple emotion could leave such a lasting effect, but then, love never is truly simple, is it?

I know now that I have truly loved someone, though I always suspected it to be the case.  The evidence is not, however, in the joy that I feel from being with this person; instead, the proof lies in the pain I feel now that I want to enjoy the company of someone new.  That's the inherent problem, you see:  we don't know what we have until it is taken away from us and we don't know how deep the wounds are until someone sticks their finger in.

I have tried to move on, tried to grow, and tried to change.  I have made a concerted effort to go on with my life and live for myself, but to no avail.  I have met someone that I truly care about; someone whose time I enjoy and who can actually bring the light of joy to my jaded spirit.  That's the worst part, I think; because I now know again a spark of happiness, I realize the void left behind that can never be lit again.

I think that I'm broken, shattered beyond repair.  I hate that I loved someone once and now I'm ruined, like the dress that you spilled red wine on the first time that you wore it.  I'm going to have to tell the new person in my life, but I don't want to give up on the last strand of hope.  Sometimes it's necessary though.  Sometimes we need to know that there is no hope so that we can just settle into the painful rut of existence.

It's just not fair that mistakes that seemed so small, so innocent, can still haunt me to this day.  It's not right that, because of a simple decision, the rest of my life is ruined.  I hate that something that I did so very long ago can condemn me to a life alone.  It's just the way of the world.

I'm broken; I'm shattered; I'm destroyed.  I loved once, and was loved, and will never be the same again.  Anything else is just a dull glow to a heart that has once seen - and been burned by - the light.  Never again will my heart be warm in the cold still of night.