Have you ever heard the sound of heartache? Smelt it? Tasted its bitterness with the tip of your strawberry tongue? Heard it, as it splintered into a thousand fragments of painted glass?
As you stare out a window, glance at your homework, rocked in a rocking chair. As you look up to a droning teacher, as you walk down the empty corridors of an empty school. As you put your head in your hands and cried.
Why, you ask the skies. Why me? You shout with ferocity, tears streaming down your ashen cheeks as you clench your fists.
Listen, and you may hear your heart break.
Perhaps you sink to your knees. You're not religious - on the contrary, you happen to be atheist - but you find yourself praying to unknown gods in celestial heavens. You don't care if they're actually listening; you just want to convince yourself that there may be a way to make things right. You want to know that someone will help you do it. You want someone to mend your broken heart. You want someone to bleed tears with you, to throb with pain with you. You turn.
There is no one.
But listen carefully
and you may hear her crying.
Somewhere, on the other side of the world - someone shares your pain.
Someone is crying for the same things that your heart is breaking for.
Someone actually knows how you feel like.
You shake your head disbelieving. You go home and you start crying, sobbing yet again. With tears of blood and pain, your eyes weep. And through that veil of stubbornness, you finally hear it.
Traces in the wind, as it blows through an open window.
You hear her weeping like you are.
You can see her bunched over beneath her duvet, trembling like you are.
And finally, you manage to see that you are not alone.
You never once were.