The Broken heart

The alarm clock breaks the nightmare of last night. One of many nightmares. He's here, fadding away, he's here, hurting her, he's here, distant, he's gone. It's always about him. Slowly, she'll stand up, eat some digestive,  take a shower. Her body knows this routine she repeats every day. But today she doesn't wonder what her day's gonna be made of. The nightmares are still bluring her mind. This whole story is blury. She's not sure what happened. She doesn't try to remember.
The bus crosses the Bridge, her eyes plunge in the Thames's dark water. Standing on the train platform, she wonders how she got there. It's like she's on autopilot. People walk around her, off the train, in the train and again. Buzzing around her, they don't see her. Buried inside a book, she doesn't see them. She's far away in another story. Anything but hers.
During the day she could almost forget. She works, socialise, laugh, goes to the gym etc. Her life hasn't stop. But her body can't hide it. She looks at her pale reflection in the bathroom mirror. She didn't cry but her eyes are red. She had lunch but her body feels weak, almost sick. 
She goes out in the evening, mets her friends for a drink in a busy Australian pub in Shepherd's Bush, or a small Italian coffee in Richmond. Life goes on as before.
But it's not as before, she knows it. She could hear the sound of another piece of her heart hitting the floor.
She can feel the emptyness. She misses him. He wasn't perfect, maybe he wasn't the right one, but he was hers. She loved him for what he was.
She has learnt a long time ago that love is not enough. But every time it's like a little death. The other kind.
She is not scared of being alone. Living alone in London, dying alone somewhere else. She thinks everybody does anyway or only few don't.
She's strong, fer friends don't need to worry.
But sometimes she'd like to be weak, break into thousands of pieces and be carried away by the strong wave of the Atlantic. Disappear to be something else.