"Old hearts break slowly"
Before the rain, I never noticed the crack in the foundation. I stood in a half-still/half-going pose, waiting for the moment when the other shoe would drop to the floor. Comfort laid over me like red velvet. That was when I was content to exist simply in the presence of another person; to bathe in the same tub and wash dishes in the same sink; to share great desserts in crappy restaurants and miraculously, still find new ways to talk to you and think. When warming up a cup of chamomile tea meant everything, and I still got tongue-tied every time you spoke to me. When kissing under the mistletoe was still sweet, cheesy, and the promises you never made didn't make me feel quite so queasy. Back, when our hearts beat to the same rhythm--alive and shy and desperately young in a way we'll never be again. We know the lesson well. Young hearts must shatter. Young heartbreak leaves you with so much--glass shards to sweep up, stolen moments to pack up, and kisses to splatter across a canvas. You'll have songs to sing, poems to write, and drinks to pour. Somewhere, deep down, you know that kind of heartbreak is a deep well to sink into and explore. It's transformative in a way nothing else can be--connective tissue that connects every Tom, Dick, and Larry. We all have the capcity to feel it from the day we're born. We search blindly in the night for it, and when it comes, it's like someone finally turned the light back on. You can love. You can feel. It hurts, but it's real. What they don't tell you is that old hearts crack in places you'll never find, until one day you realize, "Oh." I didn't know how cold and pervasive it could be; how you can feel everything—sadness, anger, guilt, fear, frustration, desire, annoyance, and euphoria—at once, yet also feel so isolated and lonely. How nothing between you ever feels quite the same the moment the clock strikes midnight. There, in that other space, where the tape no longer holds, when the degradation finally begins to show, you stare at each other blankly and say the following, most heartbreaking words, "Honey, I don't know if I love you anymore."
What is Paint Chip Poetry?
While browsing an art supply store recently, I came across a small game box filled with small paint chips and prompts—simple building blocks with which to create infinite poems and colorful sequences.
I’ve always adored poetry but never felt particularly adept at writing it. This year, I’d like to try and get better. With it being National Poetry Month, I thought it would be a fun writing challenge to use this game box as inspiration to write a brand new poem every day for the entire month of April.
The Rules
I must choose a prompt and four-to-eight paint chips at random. I get a single opportunity to re-draw a sample if I’m not feeling it, but that’s it. Just one. However, I can redraw if I get a repeat.
I must write a poem using the prompt and all of the paint chip words/phrases within the text of the poem. They must be bolded and italicized.
I must post the poem each day to Substack & include a photo of the paint chips in every post.