I let out a scream before it all becomes a hazy vision of lights, and my car drives up an embankment, the impact releasing the airbags. My head knocks front forward against the blown-up bag, a sharp pain ricocheting across my temple.
My breath is caught in my throat, shock paralyzing me while strangers rush to my aide.
The voices are panicked, none of it registering. Someone yells, “Call 9-1-1.” A woman opens my door with a phone in her hand. I hear a dial tone, then a voice on the other end saying state your emergency.
It all drowns out—the accident, the noise, the strangers around me.
My emergency isn’t my catatonic state, nor is it the gash on my head with a trickle of blood falling down the side of my face.
It’s a broken heart.
Unrepairable, damaged, and writhing in pain.
And that’s the trouble with love.
It’s the greatest feeling in the world, if only for a fleeting moment.
Yet, a broken heart will last a lifetime.
To Be Continued