Broken Hearts

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I want to first say thank you to alll that read this piece I am proud of my writing and that is the reason I share it with others.

I feel as if my heart was made of glass, as if he just got bored of looking at it and knocked it down to the cold tile floor. Left me wondering if it will get picked up and put back together again but not by him most definetly not by him.
As I listen to the rain shower the world I remember how he showered my life with those sweet words of innocence, how he looked at me with eyes filled with promise, but it was only to leave me with the feeling of betrayal and the feeling of being lost and confused. I want to cry for not knowing why, why it had to end, why he walked away without even a sinple good-bye, why do I lay here paralyzed.
My mother creeps in and sits by my side. Just then my tears that I've been holding inside begin to slide. She tries to reasure me that I'll be just fine, I'll have to take this one day at a time. She told me of her first broken heart how she had vowed to hate and detest that guy for the rest of her life but she looked back at the good times they shared and she decided they could start over being the best og friends. :)




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Hi babymagic18! I'm here to review your work.


Left me wondering if it will get picked up and put back together again but not by him most definetly not by him.


He left me wondering whether or not it will get picked up and put back together - but not by him, most definitely not by him.

Just a few spelling errors and missing punctuation marks.


As I listen to the rain shower the world I remember how he showered my life with those sweet words of innocence, how he looked at me with eyes filled with promise, but it was only to leave me with the feeling of betrayal and the feeling of being lost and confused.


As I listened to the rain shower the world I remembered how he showered my life with sweet words of innocence, how he looked at me with eyes filled with promise, only to leave me with feelings of betrayal, feelings of being lost and confused.

I reworded it a bit by pruning words. You should take out all unnecessary words. They tend to distract the reader and lessen the impact of your prose.


I want to cry for not knowing why, why it had to end, why he walked away without even a sinple good-bye, why do I lay here paralyzed.


I wanted to cry, not knowing why it had to end, why he walked away without even a simple (or did you mean single? I'm not sure) good bye, why I lay here paralyzed.

You're using the present tense but in the beginning you used the past tense, so you have to consistently use your verbs in the past tense.


My mother creeps in and sits by my side. Just then my tears that I've been holding inside begin to slide.


Again, past tense.


She told me of her first broken heart how she had vowed to hate and detest that guy for the rest of her life but she looked back at the good times they shared and she decided they could start over being the best og friends.


She told me of her first broken heart: how she had vowed to hate and detest the man who broke it for the rest of her life. But then she looked back at the good times they had shared and decided they could start over, becoming the best of friends.

It was a run-on sentence. You could reword it. The example above is just an idea.



OVERALL: Maybe it isn't the rest of the piece you should change. I think it's the tenses in the beginning you should change.

Also, it's more of a character insight than a story, isn't it? It's nice and simple. Bittersweet, I suppose.

Sincerely,

Kara
"The moral of this story, is that if I cause a stranger to choke to death for my amusement, what do you think I’ll do to you if you don’t tell me who ordered you to kill Colosimo?“

-Boardwalk Empire

Love, get out of my way.


Dulcinea: 2,500/50,000




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[spoiler]
Red = My corrections or suggestions.
Bold = My comments.
Underline = What I’ll be commenting on.
[s]Red Strikethrough[/s] = Omit
= I started new paragraph.
I feel as if my heart was made of glass, as if he just got bored of looking at it and knocked it down to the cold, tile floor. Left me wondering if it will get picked up and put back together again; but not by him, most definitely not by him.
As I listen to the rain shower the world, I remember how he showered my life with those sweet words of innocence, how he looked at me with eyes filled with promise, You have two “with’s” too close together… “promise-filled eyes”, perhaps? but it was only to leave me with the feeling of betrayalof being lost and confused. I want to cry for not knowing why, why it had to end; why he walked away without even a simple good-bye. Why do I lie here paralyzed?
My mother creeps in and sits by my side. Just then the tears that I've been holding inside begin to slide. She tries to reassure me that I'll be just fine; I'll have to take this one day at a time. She tells me of her first broken heart; how she had vowed to hate and detest that guy for the rest of her life, but she then looked back at the good times they shared, and she decided they could start over by being the best of friends. [/spoiler]

Okay, so this seems to be a common thing nowadays - tense disagreement.
I think for this specific, poetic-like story present tense works, but you're just going to have to be really careful to stay faithful to it throughout. If you don't think you can do that, then start changing it to past from the very beginning.

Actual idea, I think it's something a lot of people are going to relate with, so that's a pro. Plus, your words just seem to flow together, the feelings clearly reflected, which is exactly what you want - to evoke feelings in the reader.
This is just a short fragment, though, and I really can't give too much of an opinion yet, but I like what I've read so far, and I'd certainly keep reading.

»Sam.
"The power of accurate obeservation is often called cynicism by those who haven't got it." - Oscar Wilde.

If I could only see right to the end, I'd know just where to begin, and I could put together all the little pieces.



today we are possible.
— Lucille Clifton