The fingers always go first. They go cold and hard and frozen stiff, stumps hitting the keyboard, dull slaps of dead fish. They look ready to dislocate from your palm.

The second to go is the heart. You don't notice it until you forget to breathe and then you ask yourself, "I'm not dead yet?" If you placed your cold heart in the freezer it might thaw. You have no more use for it now. You gave it to someone but he gave it right back to you with dismissal and you don't know what to do with it now, throw it at someone and cause concussion maybe? Does anyone want my heart? Of course not.

Something in you snapped when he told you it was over. I know this because of your vulnerability in the past 22 hours. you have not stopped crying. you have not stopped begging. You think to yourself: “Does he want me to kiss the ground he walks on while whispering his name in exaltation? Because I will do all that; I want him to want me back so badly.”

you will do anything; he will do nothing more.
you want to start over; he wants to leave you behind.

you have not slept at all last night because you were busy crying. You couldn't recognize most acquaintances in school today because the tears blurred everything into streaks of smudged ink. You would win a crying marathon. You cried through the 2.4km your class ran today; you cried on the phone to a friend for half an hour; you cried on the stairs, along the corridor, in the toilets, in class. You should be fined for wasting liquid.

And then you have to wonder when you will go blind. "You're blinded by love; I'm looking through the lenses of practicality," he said. He says this, and then destroys everything you've worked for together, blows out your dreams, packs his suitcases and leaves, leaves you behind. You might as well cry on then, since you are already blind. And if you could see a future for you and he cannot, then being blind is much better.

What you had was too special to ever deserve a break-up.
Us, clouded by expectations, promises, hopes, and fears; him, cynical; you, rejected.
You think you are too difficult, bitchy, clingy, desperate, unwanted. An emotional wreck.
He lets go, moves on. Without you. Forever. No second chances.

“He does not want me anymore.
He does not love me anymore.”

Is this so easy to decide? Do you wake up one morning, thinking about the girl who's the best thing that ever happened to you, and then decide that your love for her is used up? How does he move on so coldly, how does he not look back? Do you mean so little to him? Why does he mean so much to you? Are you so difficult to live with?

you are alone, and you are crying, again.
All you ever wanted was a kiss and a hug and an "I love you".
you have only words to turn to for solace, and stranger's comments and encouragements... something he is too tired to give.

I would wait to see if his shadow would perchance grace your tearful corner again, except that he is blind. He will not return. You are a lonely open book with bleeding words and a broken spine, while he remains unfathomable, elusive, tight-lipped, gone.