Fragments of Heartbreak in Paris

This morning I watched 
as someone I love broke their heart. 

Over and over, 
I watched them wander through the secret streets of Paris, 
clumsily holding their heart in their hands. 

It wasn't their fault, you see, 
hands moistened with tears of sadness, 
a hint of relief hidden within, 
the tension of deep emotion lingers in the air. 

This morning I watched 
as someone I love let their heart fall 
onto the unforgiving cobblestone sidewalk. 

The streets filled with a sea of red silk 
and golden sparkles glistened like forgotten coins 
while dreams shattered into shimmering shards. 

As the sun casts its shadows, veiling the city, 
the heart lays exposed and vulnerable, 
its beats echoing softly through the city's veins. 

I watched as strangers passed by, 
oblivious to the delicate fragments of the lost soul, 
each glistening shard a testament to love's fragility. 

If you listen closely, 
the Seine in the distance whispers secrets, 
consoling the fallen heart, 
promising that time will mend its cracks. 

Yet in that moment, 
as heart met stone, 
the glass of quiet resilience shattered, 
forming a mosaic of the heart's journey.​