heartache - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
He would describe his heartache as like a the music of a great orchestra. At times it was quiet and allowed him to function, at other times the violins would play and he would be sad, then at other times it would rise to a crescendo and the anger would burst from his chest in a vicious shout of anguish. Right now there was a flute playing and he was able to remember her with fondness, that was rare though, and he enjoyed the moment.
At the time of great loss, your world gives way to sights and sounds of horror. It is as if you were walking in the street and a Mac truck ran you down -emotionally. The loved one is gone, but you are still here. And you ask, "How can that be?" The lost will impact every part of your being. Not only can you not think straight, but activities run on automation. To call it "walking in a daze," doesn't approach the dark clouds that amass inside your skull. There is a mental tornado in there, which no-one can see nor comprehend. One may "shut down" for weeks, even months. Then, one day, the lost gravitates into new reality. You are not the only one to suffer, and you realize that this is not the last time you will encounter great loss. At that point, all memories connected to the lost one will become bitter-sweet. You can remember all the good times, relive them, and still move on with your life. This horrible experience has not crushed you, but you are enriched by it.
The nausea swirled unrestrained in my empty stomach. My head swam with half-formed regrets. My heart felt as if my blood had become tar as it struggled to keep a steady beat. My melancholy mood hung over me like a black cloud, raining my personal sorrow down on me wherever I went. Even the colours of the spring day were drab to me now and the birdsong like so much noise on a child's glockenspiel, grating my nerves.
When she first left I would describe my heartache as like an insatiable fire that burnt all the oxygen in my body leaving me listless and empty. But now it is more like a thin layer of ice, cooling my insides, a gentle reminder of the pain that came before and a warning not to stoke that fire again. They say once bitten, twice shy, but I think for me it's more like forever shy. I can't see myself putting my heart out there again, I don't think it can survive another inferno.
His heartache was was like a wolf eating at his chest, tearing it's way to his trembling heart. It threatened to devour him, eat him whole and leave nothing but scraps behind. But he refused to be the scraps she would leave. He would rebuild himself and fight off the wolf, but right now he didn't know how. So he did his best to ignore it, he booted up his computer and played his favourite game. But he found he had little appetite for it just like he had little appetite for food or anything else. And still the wolf tore at him.
Sally would describe her heartache as a glove of ice, encasing her heart as cage keeps a tropical bird. Her heart longed to fly again, to stretch it's wings and soar, and see the vast possibilities of life laid out before her. But it stayed locked up in it's frozen prison, afraid to pick the lock or try to break the bars.
The heartache was like a red hot coal placed in her chest, it glowed and burnt her at the same time, but it did not cool quickly like a coal in water, it throbbed and tortured her in all her walking hours and there was no relief to be found.
My heartache had rung me out until I was dry inside, no more tears would come. My insides still felt as raw as if a winter wind was blowing right through my skin. The last conversation haunted me, taunted me, replaying like an echo. My appetite had dwindled to nothing. I kept the curtains closed so that I wouldn't have to witness life going on as usual. How could it when my world had crumbled?
It is a cruelty of life that a heart can keep on beating even after it has been broken in two. It can feel as though it is being gripped in an ice-cold vice and ache as if it will implode in your chest, but still the boom-boom continues.
I fell for you harder than a slip on black ice; you were funny, always cracking jokes. You had me in stitches on every date. Friends flocked to you like you were the only light in the room, hanging on your words, buying you drinks and slapping your back. After a time I wanted more than the "happy guy" persona, I already loved you, I wanted to get to know the man behind the punch lines. At first you distracted me with jokes and I followed each one, laughing down every blind alley. Then one day Rachel asked me some things about you: where you grew up, what your parents are like, who your best friends were, and I froze. After six months I knew nothing about you other than your alcohol and bed preferences. I sat with you, reached out with my open heart and invited you to reciprocate, to make that connection. Why haven't I seen you since? Why won't you return a simple message. I miss you so much.