Heartbreak: A Sample (Original Content)

[losttheskyagain]

I am currently writing a play in monologue format (like the The Eight: Reindeer Monologues and Vagina Monologues, etc). It is seven people reflecting on the pain of heartbreak. Each person has two to three monologues, thus appearing on stage multiple times.

The following is one of the later character's first reflections. She is a woman in her early twenties. This monologue called "Self-Sufficiency."

[enters with wine glass, from which she sips throughout]

I am well-learned in the art of detachment. I have changed schools three and soon to be four times. I have walked away from many cemeteries on rainy afternoons, from graves of friends and family alike. I have reveled in the delicate whispers of lovers, only to hear silence soon after. To avoid pain I make the sacred profane and commonplace. I run from things I fear I will become too close to.

It's a defense mechanism. We all do it. We love the warmth of the flame but we've learned putting a hand in it is painful. Thus a fear of pain is developed, so deep sometimes we can't even go near the flame no matter how much we desire its comfort. We do it in an attempt to save ourselves. We detach.

Over the course of my life, I have met many people. It's bound to happen if you go outside, and I go outside often. And every once in awhile I find a person so unique, so exceptional, so beautiful in every way I become entranced. It has happened four times over the course of nineteen years. One has since entirely destroyed her own life trying to make one man better. Another is my dearest friend. The third is completely unaware of his capability. Hell, I don't even know the real name of the last one, but I will never see him again so it doesn't matter.

Observing these four lives, I have learned nothing lasts forever and no one ever gets what they want. I have learned there are no guarantees and every dream eventually turns to dust. I have learned to accept and to settle.

I am not saying hope is futile, but I do attest she has a lovely way of leaving you bleeding in the middle of the road far from anything you know. She doesn't like being held high. She seemingly wants to lose her identity and become the acquaintance you see in line at the local market when you visit your hometown. She doesn't want everything movies and books and poetry and, ironically, hopeless romantics have built her up to be. So I'm letting her go. I'm putting on the blinders by taking them off and throwing them away.

Here goes. [raises glass] I'm on my own this time.