What is the sound of a heart breaking?

It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny ball crying softly in the night,
the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin,
it’s the sound of a telephone that doesn’t ring,
the sound of regret pounding inside your brain with every heartbeat,
it’s the whispers of the toy animals he gave you.

It’s the shuffling of feet walking away from you,
the sound of your soul shattering into a million pieces at recognizing the word "goodbye",
it’s the soundtrack of memories torturing you,
it’s the sound of feeble hands trying to push back the obstinate hands of time,
it’s the sound of a cherub’s dying breath,
the sound of all those years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid’s kitchen sink,
it’s the unrelenting plaintive baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an ignoring door.

It’s the sound of the rain that doesn’t ever stop,
the sound of all the doors shutting and closing in your face at the same time,
of raging, howling storms in the night when there’s no one there to hold you,
the sound of your voice at it screams back at you,
the echo of "I love yous" burning holes inside you,
the sound your heart makes as it tells you to lie still because nothing you will ever do will matter without love.

The sound of the waves of the polluted beach you went to as it moves from the shore and crashes inside your mind,
of the sniffles that make up your pathetic "S0S-to-the-world",
the cracking of the brittle black-red petals from the sidewalk vendor roses he gave,
the sound of the music he used to make going to your gut.

The sound of things in your room being thrown around and landing on the floor,
the caress of kitchen knives on skin,
the sound your throat makes as you swallow your saltiest tear.
It’s the sound of your own voice calling out to someone who isn’t there,
of dying birds getting splattered on a city pavement,
of terms of endearment used a hundred times a day struggling to crawl into a vacuum of forgetfulness,
it’s the sound of your own sobs keeping you company,
it’s the cold, uncaring stillness of the air you share your space with.

Destruction isn’t always as noisy as bombs exploding.
Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are as quiet as a feather falling on the floor of a Zen monastery.
No one else can really hear your heart breaking except you.

I do not love you…
by: Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way

that this: where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.