Lost

"It's his loss"

If I had a pound for every time I've heard those three words over the last week, I'd be buying a Prada bag this weekend.

What nobody understands is that it's also "my loss". I so desperately wish someone would just say "I have the perfect solution to mend your broken heart".

Instead, I have been flooded with offers to hunt him down and give him a good hiding, given all sorts of analysis about how the punjabi culture raises pathetic men and told how I should count my blessings as I've had a lucky escape.

Despite my family and friends' best intentions, none of these have helped to lift my spirit.

I can't remember the exact moment my heart split in two, it's more like I was hit by a lorry traveling at high speed that came from nowhere and have been lying on the motorway ever since, watching the traffic go by while I wait for the will to get up.

When I opened my heart to him I didn't consider that I was giving him a license to break it just few months later.

It hurts.