thE HEAR THAT ACHE is organic. Being sad heart must value ones emotions. Value and feel is diff in the sense … value means you shud absorb what others feel and resonate with much
it all starts with one boy who is crazy for a girl who has no interest whatsoever. Miscommunication some might call it upon looking at it but I see it more as a lack thereof. We all want different things and the brain and the heart want the two most different things of all.
Heartache. It’s the only word she could think to describe this feeling, but… why was her heart aching so? What had happened to cause such a pain? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that if she kept pressing forward, it would all make sense.
If this is what it is like to feel than Brendon wishes he had never felt anything at all. Even the fleeting happy moments spent with Gabe before he died aren’t enough to warrant the utter heartache that is crushing the prince.
The man’s heart shattered in two as the two words he dreaded the most came from the mouth of the woman he loved.
“It’s over.” She left the man to his heartache and walked on out of his life.
He couldn’t bear it, being separated from her for so long. Never knowing where she was, if she was safe, if somewhere out in that wide world terrible things were happening to her; or if she was happy. He thought that might almost be worse, if that happiness meant he was out of the picture; but if she was cared for, he supposed he could let it be.
Is a heartache like a stomachache? Do you have to go to the bathroom?
Is it like a headache? Does it really hurt on the inside?
Is it like a toothache? Does your mouth go numb?
I guess I’ll have to wait to experience it for myself.
and everything, it all ends in heartache. i know that any day now, he could die. and i prepare myself for it. i tell myself each morning as i sit before the mirror and comb my hair, put on my makeup.
His heartache was too large to describe…once his homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwich had fallen into the gutter. For you see, he made that sandwich on his own, and it was the number one thing that he looked forward to that day: to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was of God’s work.
Her heart ached. She hadn’t a clue why she was feeling such emotional upheaval over a guy she hated. Or, at least she thought she hated him. She kept telling herself that she hated him because he hurt her. Over and over. Stop it! she chided herself. Nothing ever good will come of this. She kept walking.
there seems to be a constant stream of no around me and it won’t get out of my head or my heart. i may have messed up but this can’t be my destiny, right? i’m supposed to make it no matter what, it’s what i’ve always thought. i guess i believed in myself too much and was absolutely wrong. is that really it? is life really so freaking cruel? thi is really over, isn’t it?
It seemed to be burning eternally, itching away at her very soul. It was the worst of pains, caused by the best of emotions. But when it came tumbling down, and when chaos ensued, from the very organ that had spurred such ecstasy was born the most painful fountain of heartache tears.
This young heart is cracked, bleeding and sore
And i was too stubborn to accept help from before
Now I can feel myself dying, though i feel no pain,
And i can feel my hollow body beginning to drain
Every bit of energy and the slightest of hope
Is struck down by ill dreams of being abandoned and alone
My eyes may tell a story, but my mind has remained
This fucking voice inside my head has never been tamed.
Ooh, heartache. Heartaches can be caused physically as well as emotionally. But mainly emotionally. People with whom you share your heart have the most power to cause heartache, but when one shares their heart, they generally have a trust with that other person and they believe they wont have heartache. Trust should always be had and heartache will be absent.
Raine looked at Leo and felt pain enter her chest. Ice took hold of her heart and made it ache. Leo didn’t recognize her, worse yet he hated her. Leo watched as she slid to her knees and realized that he made a mistake. This was the real Raine.
for me, it starts as a
hurricane battering away at your sternum,
eyes burning and throat
constantly tight.
it continues, like watercolors
it bleeds into everyday life.
the paint finds its way into
your normality. it sneaks into
your showers, your dinners,
those quiet moments driving
and then
you remember.
i’m not quite sure
how it fades and dissipates,
but i’ll let you know once
i discover.
my heart aches when i see a child that has died. being a kid myself in many people’s eyes, i cannot imagine never having had the opportunity to live even as long as i have been blessed.
“Heartache. Ah, that is a feeling I knew well once. You see, dear boy, in every man’s life there comes a time when he finds a girl who does not love him. Try as he might, he will never win her heart, and that feeling, the one you feel now. That is heartache.”
Don’t think, just write. Don’t remember, just wright (sic).
It’s hard to think of him dead. he’d lived for so long elsewhere.
I got to see him a few years before and we had a(nother) stealth communication for a little while. Longer. Longing lingers.
This is a hard one. Heartache can be so cliche. Like, he drove away in his father’s old ’72 Mercedes, a car he loved to work on so much, a car that he used to take me cruising around in on sweet summer nights. We used to sit on the look out, smoking a joint, and the soft leather of those seats were a source of comfort for me. I could feel my heart break, my heartache, as I knew I would never see my beloved Mercedes Benz again. God, I loved that car so much.
Break. Smash. It shatters like a vase full of red, red roses on a hard stone floor. Then it lies there. Resting. It is done breaking but can not move from where it fell… there. Lonely, hurting, aching to be held together, back with the pieces it belongs with, fitting together perfectly in every crevice, fitting together like we can’t, because you broke me, you smashed my heart, and now it rests cold on the floor of a broken home and aches to be together again.
There is no “us”, no “ours”, and definitely no “we”. Simply “you” and “me”. You had made that matter perfectly clear the last time we met. And, after years of watching and waiting and foolishly hoping that someday, oh, someday, you would miraculously come to your senses and finally realize that I am what you have been missing, what do I have left?
An empty house, a hollow chest, your terse letter telling me to never write you again.
And love.
A stupid, worthless, infuriating, never-ending love.
And it seems that all the heartache in the world cannot rid me of it.
Scars. Raw and red contrasting with my pale wrist. My arms are like zebras. Zebras cut open and left. My legs and stomach are healing. They are almost done. One wrong move and they will burst, and out will flow blood and lies and my every thought. I used to be a normal girl. I could still be an ordinary girl. But I have these scars.
I used to be a normal girl. I used to have normal parents and a normal house and normal homework and a normal school and normal friends. I used to used to used to. I’m now used to used to.
I used to have a normal best friend. A normal best friend who was alive.
I am not a normal girl. I have parents and a family and teachers and a school and friends who all treat me differently now because I’m “handling everything so well” and I’m “learning to cope in difficult situations”.
Herbie wouldn’t act like this. He would make me laugh and we would make sundaes at my house and watch Superman II. But Herbie is gone.
First day of school, sixth grade. Herbie waved at me when I walked in the doors and told me my hair was pretty. I was nervous about starting middle school. I had stressed the entire week before it started. His comment made me smile. It turned out we both had G&T English first period, so we went together. I had no idea how to navigate the school, but he had two older siblings who had gone there, so he showed me the way. We ended up having math, science, and gym together, too. I decided he was my best friend five minutes after meeting him.
Now it’s four and a half years later. Herbie is dead.
It was not an accident. It was no one’s fault but his. And mine.
That day, in English, we didn’t get to sit by each other. Our teacher arranged us in alphabetical order, and we ended up on opposite sides of the room from each other. The same happened in gym the next period. In fourth period we sat with each other in math and at lunch and he told me to get a frozen peanut butter sandwich instead of the hot lunch because his brother got food poisoning from the hot lunch once (or so he said). Our last period was science and our teacher said we would have the same seats all year and that all partners would be boy/girl. Luckily, by some force of God, Herbie and I were paired together. We decided at the end of the day that it was simply fate and that we were destined to be friends. We lived pretty close to each other, actually. He lived in the rich neighborhood on the other side of the main road and I lived in an old house on one of the huge lots next to the woods.
Herbie was not a strong writer, but he was amazing with numbers. I was exactly the opposite. We needed each other. We were a team.
Our science teacher hated us. Or he at least hated Herbie, and I was therefore hated by association. Herbie was a smart alack. He always interrupted our teacher or talked too loud, but he was never dumb. Mr. Morris called him a squirrel because he liked to get off task. Herbie hated being called a squirrel. At first I tried to make him feel better by telling him that squirrels were very intelligent and clever but I quickly gave up.
Our English teacher, Mrs. Reynolds, loved us. She said I was one of the best writers in the class, and even though Herbie didn’t know the difference between a conjunction and an article, Mrs. R. thought he had “good character.”
Herbie was very loud, very smart, very athletic, very tall, very friendly, and very popular. I was not. He was friends with all the cool kids, the athletes and rebels and beautiful people. I was not. I had a few friends other than him, all from church or in G&T. My best friend other than him was Emalyn Lucas.
She is in G&T and goes to my church. Our parents have been friends since they went to Aldrich.
Herbie was the only person other than my parents who didn’t call me June. Herbie always called me Juniper, no matter what. He never told me why.
I was the only person who ever called him Herbie. Everyone else called him Bert or Ryan.
I saw him through the gate. He was right next to the pool. If he moved so much as an inch, he would fall into the freezing water. It was the middle of December, two weeks before Christmas, a month before the incident. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, hidden behind the trees. I stared at him for a while. I don’t know if it was a minute, or an hour, or what. I just stared at him. I didn’t move. He didn’t move. He just sat there by the pool, staring at the trees on the other side of the gate, occasionally squinting up at the sky. Eventually I got tired of staring. I started slowly walking across the field towards the playground next to the neighborhood pool. His back was turned so he couldn’t see me. As I approached the gate, I tried to think of a plan, or even figure out what I was doing. Screw it. I said. You haven’t talked to him in months. Just say anything. So I reached up and grabbed the top of the iron fence. I wedged my sneakers into the narrow spaces between posts and hoisted myself up and over the fence into the enclosure. His red hair flew across his forehead when he whipped his head around at the sound of my shoes slapping the concrete. I waved at him nervously and ducked my head. He stared at me, not moving, not making a sound. The silence was deafening. But when he spoke, I immediately wished for silence again.
“What do you want.” That’s all he said. Not even a question. His voice was like ice, his eyes daggers, piercing into mine. I cleared my throat and started to shuffle towards him. “Um, I think we should talk,” I said lamely. He spun around so his body was facing me and crossed his arms. “Yes?” I just stood in front of him, knees buckling, wringing my hands, and trying to think of what to say first.
I walked closer and sat down with my legs crossed in front of him. He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Herbie-“ I started, but he cut me off. “My name is not Herbie. My name is Herbert. That’s what you will call me, Juni.” I winced when he used the name I hate. “Herbie- Herbert. I’m really sorry for everything I did. I ruined your homecoming, your birthday, and your relationship with your girlfriend, our friendship… I ruined everything. I’m so sorry.” I started crying then. Herbie just looked at me, arms still crossed. His face was blank. “You’re sorry?” No emotion. “That’s all? Just sorry? Why should I care if you’re sorry? I want to know why you did all that, Junip- June. I need an explanation. I’ve needed an explanation for months. And now, suddenly, you’re spying on me and apologizing and crying? Tell me why, June.” I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand and looked away from him and at the trees behind the fence. “Herbert… I don’t know why I did everything that I did. I guess I’m just jealous of Tara or something,” I replied quietly, still not looking at him. “Jealous of Tara? Why? What does she have that you don’t?” He asked, leaning forward and uncrossing his arms. I sniffled and looked straight into his eyes.
“You.”
I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. The chimes hanging from the eaves clinked against each other softly. The porch was huge, just like the house. I leaned against the cool brick column and waited until I heard the clicking of heels on the grand wooden staircase. I straightened up and took the few steps to the big ornate door. Herbie’s thin, big-haired mother answered the door.
“Juniper, hello! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you around. I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you! I’ll go get Herbert, okay, hon? You just wait here.” Mrs. Ryan held up her long manicured finger and turned to walk into the kitchen. I heard her yell “Herbert!” up the back staircase. I couldn’t hear is response, but I did hear her heels click against the wood of the staircase. “Herbert, someone’s here to see you! It’s Juniper! Come on down!” she called as she walked up the stairs. Then, I heard arguing. I couldn’t make out the exact words they were saying, but I knew Herbie was saying he didn’t want to come down and his mother was telling him to “be polite”.
Finally, Mrs. Ryan came back to the door, Herbie following behind with an annoyed expression on his face.
“I’ll leave you two alone. Would you like some snacks? I’ll get some snacks,” she said, hurrying into the kitchen. Herbie gestured for me to go outside, and I did. He closed the door and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the garden. I sat across from him, suddenly forgetting everything I wanted to say. “Well?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I… Um…” I began, glad to hear the door opening and to see Mrs. Ryan emerge from the house holding a tray of chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk. She set the treats down on the table between Herbie and me, and then walked hastily back inside. Herbie picked up a cookie and bit into it. Melted chocolate landed on his chin and I stared at it, trying desperately to find the words I had so meticulously rehearsed on the walk there. “Herbie, I really am sorry, and I know that you don’t want to hear that, but it’s true. I don’t know why I did everything that I did. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ve been really trying to figure out why, but I just can’t. I was stupid and don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve forgiveness. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and I will keep trying to figure out why I ruined everything for us. Just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll stop hating me so much. I’m not saying you have to forgive me, or like me, or be my friend again, because I know that will never happen and you don’t want it to. But I really can’t take this anymore. So, please, please, don’t hate me.”
heartache… when she sees him flirting with other girls… it makes her wonder.. Do you really love me? or are you just putting on a show?… heartaches happen when you want to talk to the person but they don’t want to be bothered and tell you to go away… you may not show the pain you feel but deep inside you have the fire consuming your precious heart. You really love a person and you don’t want to ever let them go… you’re deciding what will be best for the both of you… even if it means losing him </3
I wonder sometimes, why I continue to mistake my actions for pure, heartache echoing throughout reality, soaked with selfishness and sorrow. How foolish of me! I know the righteous path, the path of Divine Intent, yet I waver.
I’m sure this single word has spawned many things from poetry (usually overwrought and terrible although not always) to great works of fiction to the Taj Mahal. I like the last one the most. Kind of ironic given that I’m not a builder as much as I am a writer. But I have no poem nor book that I care to point to as a prime example. I guess I like the Taj Mahal for this word because it is just so final, but in a peaceful sort of way. It is also kind of weird as heartache is for the living and not so much the dead. And considering all the people responsible for its genesis have been dead for ages, it’s almost like an afterthought to reflect upon the original sentiment. I’m actually more in awe than I am sad when I think of it.
“You… you can’t mean it.” she said, staring at the sword he held out to her.
His face contorted into something between a grimace and a grin. “You think I want to mean it?” he asked, using that ridiculous grimace again.
“But… but it can’t be the real answer!” Ellen exclaimed, shaking her head as she backed away. The cats had disappeared. She looked around herself, despeerate to find someone who could answer the otther answer.
Once upon a time I had a heartache. I did not know what to do. Mama said, “Why don’t you go to the doctor?” Then I said, “I can’t go by myself.” Then dad said “I’ll go with you.”
Heartache…such a depressingly dull topic I would rather not delve into. Because what is the point to mull over heartache when I could be speaking of Heartmake- the things that make love exist in the first place?
i read a poem today that made my heartache go away temporarily. it was “I thought” by bobby davies i believe. it was a nice pick-me-up and made me feel happy. it was true and made me appreciate the things around me.
Perhaps the most lame topic anyone could be asked to write about. How cliche. How complicated yet extremely boring. The contradictions do provide a fertile ground for discussion, however, the wishy-washy nature of the topic makes it untasteful.
“Ugh, my heart aches.” The old man groaned as he walked up the bus stairs. “Guess I should pop some pills, hey bus driver?”
“Yeah whatever, just sit down.” The old man took his seat and began to take his pills out of his pocket, when suddenly he grabbed his chest and fell to the floor.
A single day passes with no word, due to travel and communication errors and such. But I lay in bed, thinking, crying out for, the idea of her soft touch. To snuggle and hold each other, to breath each other’s breaths. My heart aches, yearns, for love.
at different times our sparks ignite, tell me will we ever get our timing right. You robbed my heart of all open space, and filled yourself right in its place. I waited for you you continued without me, you waited for me, i swam with other fish in the sea. You are near you are close but you are never quite mine, right out of my grasp, while yours twisted around my spine. ill cry in my pillow, while yours holds your sleeping head, my eyes will swell with tears, not a single one you’ll shed. Ill dream about you holding me close, ill always dream of that day, your head flutters to other things, my dream could not be farther away.
heartache is all im feeling right now, the love of my life is going away to college, but keeping it going will probably ruin a good thing.. im done with this heartache
Today, OneWord.com gave me the word “heartache”. Of course it would be “heartache”, just when I came here to write about anything else so I could get my mind off of you. Our lives are complicated now, everything carries more weight than it did when we were younger, but I can’t promise that you will one day leave my mind. Especially now that things are over with the person you were infatuated these past five years, while I was infatuated with you, I can’t help wonder about us now, even though there is no “us” or no fragment of anything remotely close to an “us”. I got past that infatuation stage, and I was in love with you at one point. Although I am not in love with you anymore, and chances are I will never be with you, I will always love you. Always. And that causes more heartache than anything.
Heartache. The pain I felt the moment I said goodbye could be described in that one word. A lonely, cruel ache, worse than any concievable sort of physical hurt.
thE HEAR THAT ACHE is organic. Being sad heart must value ones emotions. Value and feel is diff in the sense … value means you shud absorb what others feel and resonate with much
it all starts with one boy who is crazy for a girl who has no interest whatsoever. Miscommunication some might call it upon looking at it but I see it more as a lack thereof. We all want different things and the brain and the heart want the two most different things of all.
Heartache. It’s the only word she could think to describe this feeling, but… why was her heart aching so? What had happened to cause such a pain? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that if she kept pressing forward, it would all make sense.
If this is what it is like to feel than Brendon wishes he had never felt anything at all. Even the fleeting happy moments spent with Gabe before he died aren’t enough to warrant the utter heartache that is crushing the prince.
The man’s heart shattered in two as the two words he dreaded the most came from the mouth of the woman he loved.
“It’s over.” She left the man to his heartache and walked on out of his life.
He couldn’t bear it, being separated from her for so long. Never knowing where she was, if she was safe, if somewhere out in that wide world terrible things were happening to her; or if she was happy. He thought that might almost be worse, if that happiness meant he was out of the picture; but if she was cared for, he supposed he could let it be.
Is a heartache like a stomachache? Do you have to go to the bathroom?
Is it like a headache? Does it really hurt on the inside?
Is it like a toothache? Does your mouth go numb?
I guess I’ll have to wait to experience it for myself.
and everything, it all ends in heartache. i know that any day now, he could die. and i prepare myself for it. i tell myself each morning as i sit before the mirror and comb my hair, put on my makeup.
His heartache was too large to describe…once his homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwich had fallen into the gutter. For you see, he made that sandwich on his own, and it was the number one thing that he looked forward to that day: to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was of God’s work.
Her heart ached. She hadn’t a clue why she was feeling such emotional upheaval over a guy she hated. Or, at least she thought she hated him. She kept telling herself that she hated him because he hurt her. Over and over. Stop it! she chided herself. Nothing ever good will come of this. She kept walking.
there seems to be a constant stream of no around me and it won’t get out of my head or my heart. i may have messed up but this can’t be my destiny, right? i’m supposed to make it no matter what, it’s what i’ve always thought. i guess i believed in myself too much and was absolutely wrong. is that really it? is life really so freaking cruel? thi is really over, isn’t it?
It seemed to be burning eternally, itching away at her very soul. It was the worst of pains, caused by the best of emotions. But when it came tumbling down, and when chaos ensued, from the very organ that had spurred such ecstasy was born the most painful fountain of heartache tears.
This young heart is cracked, bleeding and sore
And i was too stubborn to accept help from before
Now I can feel myself dying, though i feel no pain,
And i can feel my hollow body beginning to drain
Every bit of energy and the slightest of hope
Is struck down by ill dreams of being abandoned and alone
My eyes may tell a story, but my mind has remained
This fucking voice inside my head has never been tamed.
Ooh, heartache. Heartaches can be caused physically as well as emotionally. But mainly emotionally. People with whom you share your heart have the most power to cause heartache, but when one shares their heart, they generally have a trust with that other person and they believe they wont have heartache. Trust should always be had and heartache will be absent.
Raine looked at Leo and felt pain enter her chest. Ice took hold of her heart and made it ache. Leo didn’t recognize her, worse yet he hated her. Leo watched as she slid to her knees and realized that he made a mistake. This was the real Raine.
oh, what a familiar word,
cliched but
so so true.
for me, it starts as a
hurricane battering away at your sternum,
eyes burning and throat
constantly tight.
it continues, like watercolors
it bleeds into everyday life.
the paint finds its way into
your normality. it sneaks into
your showers, your dinners,
those quiet moments driving
and then
you remember.
i’m not quite sure
how it fades and dissipates,
but i’ll let you know once
i discover.
my heart aches when i see a child that has died. being a kid myself in many people’s eyes, i cannot imagine never having had the opportunity to live even as long as i have been blessed.
“Heartache. Ah, that is a feeling I knew well once. You see, dear boy, in every man’s life there comes a time when he finds a girl who does not love him. Try as he might, he will never win her heart, and that feeling, the one you feel now. That is heartache.”
Don’t think, just write. Don’t remember, just wright (sic).
It’s hard to think of him dead. he’d lived for so long elsewhere.
I got to see him a few years before and we had a(nother) stealth communication for a little while. Longer. Longing lingers.
This is a hard one. Heartache can be so cliche. Like, he drove away in his father’s old ’72 Mercedes, a car he loved to work on so much, a car that he used to take me cruising around in on sweet summer nights. We used to sit on the look out, smoking a joint, and the soft leather of those seats were a source of comfort for me. I could feel my heart break, my heartache, as I knew I would never see my beloved Mercedes Benz again. God, I loved that car so much.
Break. Smash. It shatters like a vase full of red, red roses on a hard stone floor. Then it lies there. Resting. It is done breaking but can not move from where it fell… there. Lonely, hurting, aching to be held together, back with the pieces it belongs with, fitting together perfectly in every crevice, fitting together like we can’t, because you broke me, you smashed my heart, and now it rests cold on the floor of a broken home and aches to be together again.
There is no “us”, no “ours”, and definitely no “we”. Simply “you” and “me”. You had made that matter perfectly clear the last time we met. And, after years of watching and waiting and foolishly hoping that someday, oh, someday, you would miraculously come to your senses and finally realize that I am what you have been missing, what do I have left?
An empty house, a hollow chest, your terse letter telling me to never write you again.
And love.
A stupid, worthless, infuriating, never-ending love.
And it seems that all the heartache in the world cannot rid me of it.
Scars. Raw and red contrasting with my pale wrist. My arms are like zebras. Zebras cut open and left. My legs and stomach are healing. They are almost done. One wrong move and they will burst, and out will flow blood and lies and my every thought. I used to be a normal girl. I could still be an ordinary girl. But I have these scars.
I used to be a normal girl. I used to have normal parents and a normal house and normal homework and a normal school and normal friends. I used to used to used to. I’m now used to used to.
I used to have a normal best friend. A normal best friend who was alive.
I am not a normal girl. I have parents and a family and teachers and a school and friends who all treat me differently now because I’m “handling everything so well” and I’m “learning to cope in difficult situations”.
Herbie wouldn’t act like this. He would make me laugh and we would make sundaes at my house and watch Superman II. But Herbie is gone.
First day of school, sixth grade. Herbie waved at me when I walked in the doors and told me my hair was pretty. I was nervous about starting middle school. I had stressed the entire week before it started. His comment made me smile. It turned out we both had G&T English first period, so we went together. I had no idea how to navigate the school, but he had two older siblings who had gone there, so he showed me the way. We ended up having math, science, and gym together, too. I decided he was my best friend five minutes after meeting him.
Now it’s four and a half years later. Herbie is dead.
It was not an accident. It was no one’s fault but his. And mine.
That day, in English, we didn’t get to sit by each other. Our teacher arranged us in alphabetical order, and we ended up on opposite sides of the room from each other. The same happened in gym the next period. In fourth period we sat with each other in math and at lunch and he told me to get a frozen peanut butter sandwich instead of the hot lunch because his brother got food poisoning from the hot lunch once (or so he said). Our last period was science and our teacher said we would have the same seats all year and that all partners would be boy/girl. Luckily, by some force of God, Herbie and I were paired together. We decided at the end of the day that it was simply fate and that we were destined to be friends. We lived pretty close to each other, actually. He lived in the rich neighborhood on the other side of the main road and I lived in an old house on one of the huge lots next to the woods.
Herbie was not a strong writer, but he was amazing with numbers. I was exactly the opposite. We needed each other. We were a team.
Our science teacher hated us. Or he at least hated Herbie, and I was therefore hated by association. Herbie was a smart alack. He always interrupted our teacher or talked too loud, but he was never dumb. Mr. Morris called him a squirrel because he liked to get off task. Herbie hated being called a squirrel. At first I tried to make him feel better by telling him that squirrels were very intelligent and clever but I quickly gave up.
Our English teacher, Mrs. Reynolds, loved us. She said I was one of the best writers in the class, and even though Herbie didn’t know the difference between a conjunction and an article, Mrs. R. thought he had “good character.”
Herbie was very loud, very smart, very athletic, very tall, very friendly, and very popular. I was not. He was friends with all the cool kids, the athletes and rebels and beautiful people. I was not. I had a few friends other than him, all from church or in G&T. My best friend other than him was Emalyn Lucas.
She is in G&T and goes to my church. Our parents have been friends since they went to Aldrich.
Herbie was the only person other than my parents who didn’t call me June. Herbie always called me Juniper, no matter what. He never told me why.
I was the only person who ever called him Herbie. Everyone else called him Bert or Ryan.
I saw him through the gate. He was right next to the pool. If he moved so much as an inch, he would fall into the freezing water. It was the middle of December, two weeks before Christmas, a month before the incident. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, hidden behind the trees. I stared at him for a while. I don’t know if it was a minute, or an hour, or what. I just stared at him. I didn’t move. He didn’t move. He just sat there by the pool, staring at the trees on the other side of the gate, occasionally squinting up at the sky. Eventually I got tired of staring. I started slowly walking across the field towards the playground next to the neighborhood pool. His back was turned so he couldn’t see me. As I approached the gate, I tried to think of a plan, or even figure out what I was doing. Screw it. I said. You haven’t talked to him in months. Just say anything. So I reached up and grabbed the top of the iron fence. I wedged my sneakers into the narrow spaces between posts and hoisted myself up and over the fence into the enclosure. His red hair flew across his forehead when he whipped his head around at the sound of my shoes slapping the concrete. I waved at him nervously and ducked my head. He stared at me, not moving, not making a sound. The silence was deafening. But when he spoke, I immediately wished for silence again.
“What do you want.” That’s all he said. Not even a question. His voice was like ice, his eyes daggers, piercing into mine. I cleared my throat and started to shuffle towards him. “Um, I think we should talk,” I said lamely. He spun around so his body was facing me and crossed his arms. “Yes?” I just stood in front of him, knees buckling, wringing my hands, and trying to think of what to say first.
I walked closer and sat down with my legs crossed in front of him. He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Herbie-“ I started, but he cut me off. “My name is not Herbie. My name is Herbert. That’s what you will call me, Juni.” I winced when he used the name I hate. “Herbie- Herbert. I’m really sorry for everything I did. I ruined your homecoming, your birthday, and your relationship with your girlfriend, our friendship… I ruined everything. I’m so sorry.” I started crying then. Herbie just looked at me, arms still crossed. His face was blank. “You’re sorry?” No emotion. “That’s all? Just sorry? Why should I care if you’re sorry? I want to know why you did all that, Junip- June. I need an explanation. I’ve needed an explanation for months. And now, suddenly, you’re spying on me and apologizing and crying? Tell me why, June.” I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand and looked away from him and at the trees behind the fence. “Herbert… I don’t know why I did everything that I did. I guess I’m just jealous of Tara or something,” I replied quietly, still not looking at him. “Jealous of Tara? Why? What does she have that you don’t?” He asked, leaning forward and uncrossing his arms. I sniffled and looked straight into his eyes.
“You.”
I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. The chimes hanging from the eaves clinked against each other softly. The porch was huge, just like the house. I leaned against the cool brick column and waited until I heard the clicking of heels on the grand wooden staircase. I straightened up and took the few steps to the big ornate door. Herbie’s thin, big-haired mother answered the door.
“Juniper, hello! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you around. I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you! I’ll go get Herbert, okay, hon? You just wait here.” Mrs. Ryan held up her long manicured finger and turned to walk into the kitchen. I heard her yell “Herbert!” up the back staircase. I couldn’t hear is response, but I did hear her heels click against the wood of the staircase. “Herbert, someone’s here to see you! It’s Juniper! Come on down!” she called as she walked up the stairs. Then, I heard arguing. I couldn’t make out the exact words they were saying, but I knew Herbie was saying he didn’t want to come down and his mother was telling him to “be polite”.
Finally, Mrs. Ryan came back to the door, Herbie following behind with an annoyed expression on his face.
“I’ll leave you two alone. Would you like some snacks? I’ll get some snacks,” she said, hurrying into the kitchen. Herbie gestured for me to go outside, and I did. He closed the door and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the garden. I sat across from him, suddenly forgetting everything I wanted to say. “Well?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I… Um…” I began, glad to hear the door opening and to see Mrs. Ryan emerge from the house holding a tray of chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk. She set the treats down on the table between Herbie and me, and then walked hastily back inside. Herbie picked up a cookie and bit into it. Melted chocolate landed on his chin and I stared at it, trying desperately to find the words I had so meticulously rehearsed on the walk there. “Herbie, I really am sorry, and I know that you don’t want to hear that, but it’s true. I don’t know why I did everything that I did. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ve been really trying to figure out why, but I just can’t. I was stupid and don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve forgiveness. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and I will keep trying to figure out why I ruined everything for us. Just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll stop hating me so much. I’m not saying you have to forgive me, or like me, or be my friend again, because I know that will never happen and you don’t want it to. But I really can’t take this anymore. So, please, please, don’t hate me.”
heartache… when she sees him flirting with other girls… it makes her wonder.. Do you really love me? or are you just putting on a show?… heartaches happen when you want to talk to the person but they don’t want to be bothered and tell you to go away… you may not show the pain you feel but deep inside you have the fire consuming your precious heart. You really love a person and you don’t want to ever let them go… you’re deciding what will be best for the both of you… even if it means losing him </3
A stinging sensation I thought I’ve long forgotten. I would have put on some tea if I knew you were coming.
all i want, all i need, all i am, is you.
I wonder sometimes, why I continue to mistake my actions for pure, heartache echoing throughout reality, soaked with selfishness and sorrow. How foolish of me! I know the righteous path, the path of Divine Intent, yet I waver.
This is it. The wound hasn’t healed yet. But you rip off the band-aid to watch me suffer through the pain.
I’m sure this single word has spawned many things from poetry (usually overwrought and terrible although not always) to great works of fiction to the Taj Mahal. I like the last one the most. Kind of ironic given that I’m not a builder as much as I am a writer. But I have no poem nor book that I care to point to as a prime example. I guess I like the Taj Mahal for this word because it is just so final, but in a peaceful sort of way. It is also kind of weird as heartache is for the living and not so much the dead. And considering all the people responsible for its genesis have been dead for ages, it’s almost like an afterthought to reflect upon the original sentiment. I’m actually more in awe than I am sad when I think of it.
Heartache pounded through the room.
“You… you can’t mean it.” she said, staring at the sword he held out to her.
His face contorted into something between a grimace and a grin. “You think I want to mean it?” he asked, using that ridiculous grimace again.
“But… but it can’t be the real answer!” Ellen exclaimed, shaking her head as she backed away. The cats had disappeared. She looked around herself, despeerate to find someone who could answer the otther answer.
There was no one.
Once upon a time I had a heartache. I did not know what to do. Mama said, “Why don’t you go to the doctor?” Then I said, “I can’t go by myself.” Then dad said “I’ll go with you.”
Heartache…such a depressingly dull topic I would rather not delve into. Because what is the point to mull over heartache when I could be speaking of Heartmake- the things that make love exist in the first place?
i read a poem today that made my heartache go away temporarily. it was “I thought” by bobby davies i believe. it was a nice pick-me-up and made me feel happy. it was true and made me appreciate the things around me.
Perhaps the most lame topic anyone could be asked to write about. How cliche. How complicated yet extremely boring. The contradictions do provide a fertile ground for discussion, however, the wishy-washy nature of the topic makes it untasteful.
“Ugh, my heart aches.” The old man groaned as he walked up the bus stairs. “Guess I should pop some pills, hey bus driver?”
“Yeah whatever, just sit down.” The old man took his seat and began to take his pills out of his pocket, when suddenly he grabbed his chest and fell to the floor.
They finally broke up. She just could not stay faithful to Kevin anymore. There’s too much heartache.
A single day passes with no word, due to travel and communication errors and such. But I lay in bed, thinking, crying out for, the idea of her soft touch. To snuggle and hold each other, to breath each other’s breaths. My heart aches, yearns, for love.
at different times our sparks ignite, tell me will we ever get our timing right. You robbed my heart of all open space, and filled yourself right in its place. I waited for you you continued without me, you waited for me, i swam with other fish in the sea. You are near you are close but you are never quite mine, right out of my grasp, while yours twisted around my spine. ill cry in my pillow, while yours holds your sleeping head, my eyes will swell with tears, not a single one you’ll shed. Ill dream about you holding me close, ill always dream of that day, your head flutters to other things, my dream could not be farther away.
heartache is all im feeling right now, the love of my life is going away to college, but keeping it going will probably ruin a good thing.. im done with this heartache
Today, OneWord.com gave me the word “heartache”. Of course it would be “heartache”, just when I came here to write about anything else so I could get my mind off of you. Our lives are complicated now, everything carries more weight than it did when we were younger, but I can’t promise that you will one day leave my mind. Especially now that things are over with the person you were infatuated these past five years, while I was infatuated with you, I can’t help wonder about us now, even though there is no “us” or no fragment of anything remotely close to an “us”. I got past that infatuation stage, and I was in love with you at one point. Although I am not in love with you anymore, and chances are I will never be with you, I will always love you. Always. And that causes more heartache than anything.
Heartache. The pain I felt the moment I said goodbye could be described in that one word. A lonely, cruel ache, worse than any concievable sort of physical hurt.