This is Like a Metaphor

I've never had my heart truly broken. I'll admit to my inability to claim relation to that degree of emotional pain. I've never had my heart ripped in two or had a hole burned through it. The most I can claim is that pieces have slowly been chipped away. It is slowly being whittled down, chiseled away at the edges. The first few chips came off easy, almost naturally. Any severe pain was likely imagined. When exfoliating your skin, it is refreshing and necessary for a layer to come off. Maybe my heart needed to be exfoliated. Maybe that was healthy. However, as more of my heart is slowly chipped at, it seems more raw. I am scraped and it almost draws blood. Legitimate discomfort, hints of pain. Hearts are glass. When broken, the glass shatters, and all the tiny pieces sparkles with a strange beauty, and the glass is still glass. My heart feels like it's been tossed about in an ocean. Slowly being sanded down. Gradually being eroded. When it washes up on shore and someone cares to look, it is hardly recognizable. Smooth and opaque, more closely resembling stone. So I believe this is a different kind of misfortune all together. It cannot be called a heartbreak, although my heart hurts. It is not a deep stab or a clean break. It is more of a constant throbbing shallow wound. When a bone breaks it must be reset, sometimes painfully and immobilized for a period of time. But then it can heal, practically as good as before. With this throbbing, like a headache, all that can be done is pop a painkiller and know that the ache will always come back. My heart is a piece of wood being carved, how long until it is finished? My heart is scraped, how many more layers until I start to bleed? My heart is a rock, how long until I can't tell the difference? My heart is a headache, how long until the next wave?