those first few moments of heartbreak are said to be the worst. the moments when the soul shatters from the pain, when all the shards of your mental existence become exposed, blasted with shock. the sinking falling feeling as if you have been pushed off a ledge and you know a pit of spikes awaits you at the bottom. that is not the worst. not in the experience of the large black mare Božena. she has found a new low. the worst comes later, after each drop of hope rains from the sky like monsoon season in the desert. the world is saved, the pieces of your life are tentatively sewn back together. hope does that. you begin to feel like you might someday end up whole, less broken, the glue between your wounds cementing. but it always comes. the time when you must be cracked open again. and the second fall off the ledge always hurts worse.
she feels physical pain, her breath stolen from her, her body rigid with loss, aching from the inside out. when she finally opens her eyes, tears stealing from the dark brown pools, she can only stare at the large black hooves before her. she wants to trace the lines of his face, drink up his existence with joy knowing she at least is not alone here, at least not in form, but she cannot bring herself to do it. sadness has ways of begetting sadness.
she already knows that he has not come for her, does not know of her or her family and so when he speaks it takes her a moment to comprehend, to tune back into the reality of the moment. she doesn’t move away when he approaches, doesn’t look up when he speaks. her ears lay back in their inky nest listlessly. she breathes but feels dead. finally she replies, her voice quiet but hard, and lifts her head to match his gaze. jsem nic. pocházím odnikud. . . můj domov neexistuje
