It hits slow like the Ice Age

But the breakage is just as bad

As the ice begins to melt, and bend at the seams,

Your heart learns it cannot do the same.

It’s the divergence of species,

The allopatric speciation syndrome taking it’s effect.

It happens to everyone, they say.

It’s only for a brief moment you’ll feel like this, they say.

But what constitutes a brief moment?

To some brief is the length of a bad song,

And to others it’s an eternity times a thousand.

No matter what, pain always finds a way of making time suddenly stop flying,

And stretch it,

Like the commercials in between the cliff hanging moments of a revolutionary episode.

The suspense of further awaited emotional turmoil,

Burning into you.

But this is worse than suspense,

Because the adrenaline is replaced with depression,

As your whole world begins to melt between your fingers.

And you watch,

As the things you once loved,

crack.

Straight off your main land of ice,

And slowly float away.

Leaving you cold, scared, and oh so very alone.

The sun sears into the minor cracks you so desperately have held together,

Like a cruel joke,

Pushing on until you see the cynical humor,

And you learn to appreciate it.

Because if you’re left with nothing in the world but a block of ice,

And tugged strings of heart,

All you can you,

Is enjoy the serenity of the water.

And the jokes the sun burns into your ear.

Laughing at how your heart cannot break just as easily,

As the ice you stand on.

The ice you wish was made of heart,

But only grows with frozen tears.