words are inadequate
for heartbreak, for loss; they offer
some measly approximation of hope or healing,
the verbal reaching-out of helpless hands.
words are inadequate for
the weight of blood as it shoves through veins,
for the heaviness of the heart as it beats
over and over, burdened with knowledge,
desperate for relief.
in heartbreak perhaps the heart itself
is our best reminder:
that life remains, that existence persists
and will not stop for something as paltry as
emotion, or sentiment.
boiled down to physicality, mammalian and insane,
our bodies will still force themselves to breathe
and digest and sleep and wake
no matter the morning we wake to.
the heart will beat,
whether full or empty, burdened or clear,
aching or brimming with peace.
the heart will beat when there are no words left,
when there is only silence
and the sound of the pulse.