I was broken

My heart was broken in pieces, so long ago that I couldn't even remember when it broke. 

It wasn't like having a broken heart from love sickness, when your heart shatters all at once.

Sure, I tried fixing it. One little piece at the time. But every time I managed to fix a part, it just got broken down again.

And eventually I stopped trying to fix it. It felt like a waste of time anyway.

The box was packed packed well.
Waterproof.
And I made sure to not shake it too hard, because otherwise the splinters would hit me and it would hurt.

The pieces were only there only to serve one purpose; to fuel my inspiration for art.
It was the one thing that I did enjoy doing.

By the time I was 18 years old, I'd already seen so much in life, that I became numb to it.

And I was convinced that I would end up either totally insane in the mental ward, or in jail as some kind of kind of psychotic killer that wanted to kill humanity. But numb as I was, neither of those two thoughts scared me. In contrary, I found it strangely comforting to think about. To me, it seemed like a perfect way to escape society's pressure.

I was only 14 when I met you in class.

I kinda liked you. Not in a romantic way -- thinking about things like that scared me back then. But in way that I found it comforting that I wasn't the only one that wasn't interested in joining that stupid circus those classmates performed. That there was another human being that was, just like me, not paying attention to the lessons and sitting in the back of the class, making silly drawings in his textbook.
Just knowing that I wasn't the only one that wanted to desperately drown myself in fiction in order to forget about the things in life.
Knowing I was not alone.

We talked, sometimes.

But I rarely spoke about fiction that made up my world, neither did I talk about the box that I carried with me.

I couldn't just trust you back then.
I couldn't trust anyone.
I'd already been betrayed by people many times.

High school passed. Life went on, for both of us. 
Different places, different university's, different friends... and eventually we both went our own separate ways.

A lot of things happened during that time.
At least, to me. 

I can only guess the same went for you as well.

It was only after many years, that we met again.
At a party -- as cliche as it could get.
We didn't have too much time to talk, but it immediately struck me that you had changed since then. 

You changed a lot.
But I could only guess that was natural. After all; I'd changed a lot as well.

You were the one that proposed meeting up again, because I was too shy to ask. 
At a bar. Just have a drink and chat a bit. Ironic --as I used to think-- for two people like us to do something that normal. Back at school, we never were normal.
I can still remember feeling misplaced. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know what to say, either.
I guess I just didn't want to admit how much I messed up in life over the years.
But then again, I didn't feel like pretending either.
I'd already been pretending all my life.

The ice broke when you laughingly told me you were still writing poems.
It brought a smile to my face, admitting I was still writing too.
The same old shit we did in high school.
And for a while, it felt like the years never passed.
Like things never changed between us.

You were the first one in years that asked me how I was, without forcing me to say "okay".
The first one that was genuinely interested in the answer, opposed to the many people that just pretended to be.

You were the first to break the seal on the box with the pieces of broken heart.
The first human being I could trust in years.

The one that showed me that, no matter how broken you are, there's always a way to put the pieces together again. To fix things.

I am still broken.

My heart is full of scars that will never fade away.

But I've learned to wear them with pride.

Inspiration doesn't always reside in just misery.
There's happiness as well. That's what you've taught me.

And I love you for that.