Pupus

There is a special kind of pain - quiet, without drama or scenes, when your heart is still in place but sounds like an old record crackling. You seem to be alive, breathing, going to work, smiling at your neighbours, but inside it's as if someone has torn out the page that contained the story of ‘us.’ Where there used to be warmth, now there is an icy pause. And yet there remains a stubborn hope: maybe someday this ice will melt, maybe it will become warm for at least a couple of seconds. Just to make sure that the feelings were real.