Exercising the craft—May 2, 2016

By Ekta R. Garg

Prompt: That summer seemed to last forever…



That summer seemed to last forever.

I kept returning to the window seat in my bedroom. It seemed like the one place where I could find refuge. I could look out the window and let my mind wander. My mind, after all, was the one thing I could trust. I couldn’t trust my heart anymore.

Well, that’s somewhat inaccurate. I couldn’t find my heart to know whether it could be trusted. It had shattered weeks earlier, and I kept finding pieces of it. Sometimes shards. Sometimes bits. No large pieces. Nothing big enough to assemble.

I felt flutters in my chest. A few chunks, I had learned, still survived inside of me. They struggled to beat, fighting against each other in a strange sort of arrhythmia. Irregular thumps made strange sounds. If I listened closely enough I could hear the words as they thrashed inside of me.

He broke your heart. He broke your heart. He—broke—your—heart.

And it was true. He had broken my heart and left me just alive enough to get through the longest summer of my life. Every day lasted as long as a season. The entire summer lasted the length of a lifetime.

My entire lifetime during that summer, and the only thing I had to get me through it were some pieces of a heart useless to me.

It had started like every simple love story does: with friendship. We joked around, we listened to one another, we supported each other. At some point all that time we spent together turned into caring. Then that caring turned into something more.

And then his heart tugged at mine. It clasped mine. It whispered into mine. Promised me love.

I didn’t know love broke a heart into so many pieces. At the end of the summer I’d barely found enough to form the outline of what I used to call my heart, but that was the best I could do. Surely I could move forward with an outline. I had lived an entire lifetime, after all, in that summer.

It seemed to last forever.