I wonder how does a heart get broken.
Thinking about it, I think my heart breaks on many different levels.
When I do badly for an exam, my heart slumps over and cracks a little in the side, breaking my heart.
When I listen to a song that strikes a chord within me, my heart lurches forward and sprains itself, breaking my heart.
When my parents say something really mean to me, my heart screams in frustration straining its vocal chords, breaking my heart.
When my friend says something particularly hurtful, my heart jolts like it's been stabbed in the back, breaking my heart.
And worst of all, when someone I love leaves me, my heart splinters and cracks, screams and jolts, pierces and stabs, breaking my heart into a million pieces.

And when I haven't done badly for an exam, when I'm not listening to a song packed with emotional baggage, when my parents haven't said anything mean, and my friends haven't said anything hurtful and most of all, when the pain and bleeding of an ex-boyfriend has stopped and my heart has healed, I wonder how does a heart get broken.
I remember in memory, but I don't remember in sense; it's a little like watching a television program in mute, I see it but I don't feel it quite like how I used to, and I wonder.
I wonder but I don't want to know.
Because from what I remember in my memory, it hurt a lot; enough to make my heart bleed, my tears flow unbidden and jolt me awake in the middle of the night feeling all alone while I lived my days like someone had pulled the plug in me.
Something I don't think I'd quite like to feel or know again.

I've never been much of a cynic, although I'm certainly more cynical than I let on, but the whole string of Imissyous and all that jazz doesn't bear the weight it used to anymore.
When some people tell me that they miss me, but don't remember something I told them two days ago, it makes me skeptical of the sincerity of their words.
When people who used to genuinely miss me, tell me they miss me now, and forget little things about me, I wonder if they still miss me now. Probably not.
I'm not angry or anything, just musing, because I'm probably guilty of the very same thing.
It just makes you wonder, that's all, who really, honestly, genuinely, misses you.

It's nice to be missed.
Just needs to be genuine, that's all.

Yup, that's all!

(exam period makes me blog incessantly)