What do you know of heartbreak

What do you know of heartbreak if you haven’t drowned in the silence of their absence. If you haven’t wandered around the world, avoiding your own skin. If every conversation and every movement isn’t thick, dark treacle, or soundproofed days, and every waking moment is like pulling teeth. What do you know of heartbreak if you haven’t been to the other side, if you didn’t see every moment as the rise of a tide. If you haven’t felt the weight and the release of everything you ever were, magnificent and imposing and lost amongst the dripping leaves. What do you know of heartbreak, if your body hasn’t brought you to the brink of a thousand different deaths. If you don’t let the contraction and expansion of time sink into you. If you don’t dream of lies and wake up to nothing except empty veins and invisible goodbyes.