Piece of Heart

In the moment the door swung shut, I knew it would never reopen for me.
In that moment, a small, shattered piece of my heart cried out for me to turn around.
Turn around, and claw and rip and pound at the door until they let me back in.
Back in to the wonder, to the magic and bliss.
Back in to the friends that little piece of my heart already missed.
(How little can a piece of heart be, when its cries drown out the rest?)
Falling down to trembling knees, I clutched at eyes whose tears could not be allowed to fall.
If those tears fell, the little shattered piece of heart would only grow stronger.
I'd made my choice. I'd walked through the door.
That part of my life, those moments both wondrous and ruinous, were over.
Gone, like snow melted by the spring sun.
(Like the kiss of your love's last breath.)
Planting my hands against the smooth wood floor, I forced myself to get up. Get up without looking back, for if I were to look back and find the door ajar, I'd not be able to leave that world again.
(Without the one who could mend your shattered heart, all that world could be was empty.)
Each step away from the door was a betrayal, a throwing away of promises I'd meant to keep.
But each step away was also a relief, a burden lifted from shoulders too worn down to carry anything anymore.
So I left that door, hidden high in the faded blue house. I left that house, filled with memories from a shattered heart, from one too weak to continue on through all the loss.
The world I returned to could never replace the one I'd left, but at least here, that shattered piece of heart wouldn't find reminders everywhere I glance.