Death of a romantic

It's a peculiar death, the death of a romantic. It may look like any other emotional disturbance to the average onlooker, but those who have been there know it's not your average broken heart. 

There are tomes full of advice for those who dare fall in love. Throw those away, for you are a rare soul. You are a romantic. You believe against all odds. You hope against hope. You sometimes despair of life because your heart hurts so much, because it just can't reach who it wants to reach, because it lost the one person who was worth more than the world to them.

The death of a romantic is heartbreaking to watch. It's like watching the first broken heart the world has ever seen. It's spectacular. And brutal. And it makes you want to scream at them to just buck up, let go, face the facts, walk away, get mad, break something, do anything but endure what they're enduring. 

But they just break. They melt. Their life oozes out of them. It's like watching a pride of lions take down a wounded gazelle. You watch helplessly at a safe distance and pray they get up and go. But they don't. They just die. Oh, sure, they still have a body that takes in food and water and pays the bills, but they are dead. 

You don't know what to say to them. They're deaf to your words. They're blind to you. They don't seem to see the world as you do anymore. They're perpetually out of step, like a wounded bird that will never make it south for the winter again. They're just ... off. 

They smile like they used to, but there's no sparkle in their eyes. The lights have gone out. They don't laugh like they used to. And sometimes they talk and just trail off without even realizing anyone is listening. Because, in their heart, the world has ceased to exist. When that person walked out of their life, they died. 

Food doesn't taste the same. They don't drink to have fun. They drink to kill themselves. They drink to fill a giant hole that could never be filled, even if the entire universe was shoved in it. The one thing — the one person — who could fill that hole is gone. You think you know what that's like, but you don't. People aren't interchangeable. Some are worth far more than others. Some are like the rarest stardust that drifted to earth and blessed some lucky soul. And then they were taken away, leaving a gasping, dying soul waiting for their return. 

How do I know what the death of a romantic looks like? I've seen it staring back at me from my empty plate of food, from the blank TV, from the fogged-up mirror in the bathroom, from the reflection in my phone. I've heard the rumors and did my research. It was all true. I saw it firsthand. And then, my dear, I saw it happen to you.