Heartbreaks

A poem about what love asks of us, and what we’re left holding when it doesn’t deliver.

Love breaks  
like a wave 
that pulls away,  
	s	o	f	t
and 
	…s		…l		…o		…w,
leaving behind  
a hollow 
where warmth 
once lived.  

Oh love, you were
bright once,
not a flame, just
light that got into rooms
I’d stopped noticing,
gave mornings something
to push against,  
a  p . u .  l . s . e 
under skin,
a pull through days
that made no sound.  

If you come back
it can’t be
with memory alone,
or promises
stretched thin
from sitting in a drawer.

Come back with something real.

Hands that hold
without needing to own.
Words that don’t
already know
how they end.  

And only come back
if you can stand
what’s left here, 
not ruins exactly,
just
the weight of a place
that still remembers you,
cinders that want warmth,
not another fire
that burns
because it can.

I’m still here
holding the shape of where you were.

It aches.
Not dramatically;
more like a bruise
you forget about
until you press it.

Maybe love doesn’t leave.

Maybe it just
gets quiet,
finds a corner,
waits to see
if you’ll learn
how to come back right.

Author’s Note

“Heartbreaks” started with the idea that love isn’t only what happens between two people—it’s also what you feel for a country. And when a country begins shifting in ways that undercut what it was supposed to stand for, that feels like heartbreak too. The connection you believed in starts to give, slowly, and not without pain.

The poem tries to hold that slow unraveling. A love for a country doesn’t usually shatter with a single loud moment. It cracks quietly, through small changes that stack up until something is missing and you can’t ignore it anymore. What does it mean to stay connected to that? To stay engaged, to keep hoping, to ask that love be met with care even when no clear way forward shows itself?

What I kept coming back to was the space left behind. Not wreckage, exactly just the shape of something that was there and isn’t now. The poem sits in that space and asks what love, of any kind, actually requires: showing up with intention, grieving honestly, holding hope without pretending the hard things aren’t real.

So yes, this is about loss. But it’s also about the chance of something returning, if it comes back the right way.

Upcoming…

• March’s writing prompt:

  One Hundred-Word Wonders, 18 March 2026

  This year, every prompt will come directly from movie titles.

  For those who want a head start, this month’s prompt is: SOME LIKE IT HOT; DO THE RIGHT THING. Write in exactly 100 words, a story, poem, or creative non-fiction in any genre, using the entire prompt (the two movie titles) or focusing on one of the two. Pieces should be exactly 100 words, no more or less. The 100-word count does not include the title. Hold your piece until the 18th!

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