And I Don't Mean Any Of This

It was the kind of love that made your mouth let out an unfamiliar noise, made a flurry in your chest, but not a sweet kind, the indescribable kind, you do not want to feel again. It made your fingers tremble and shake, and your eyes forget how to water and cry and let this feeling out, so it squeezed it in, deeply. You take that feeling and keep it at the root, core of your being, and you hope maybe that was the last time, but you know it isn't, it is triggered, not often, but it is. It's brought upon by possibly pictures, or lyrics, scents, places, or out of context memories that deserve context, more than you wish they would be forgotten. And I know that feeling, a love that is the control, for all other feelings, just mere experiences to contrast that one feeling. The upsetting kind, that makes your chest feel trapped inside itself, and your stomach twist into knots, tied, on fingers, sworn never to forget, those drastically out of place recollections, and feelings. Plucking tender chords like flower petals, and back and forth, it will or it won't, and one day you twang something dark enough. You didn't mean to, but the induced sound was so harsh and violent it even shook you, to that core that was already filled with notions so intimate that they had only been said one time, then never again. The vibrations, blinded, deafened and defeated. Or perhaps you just weren't listening correctly, it's so simplistic, to hear incorrect, in mutually connective silence. It's so easy for it to be one-sided, when your innermost coveted memories, are honestly varied from theirs, even sometimes clash and contradict. It was one way, and then another, until someone doesn't want to hear that sound anymore, and leaves it, with the other to hear for all eternity, seemingly willingly, and it rings out so raw and aching, so private and personal, makes you conclusively wonder, if they ever even felt it. 
Felt it within themselves, grabbing at a bruised and swollen chest piece, not protecting, but barred to be healed, but it clasped, double-fisted, and never let go and never stopped, holding, like the ringing inside one's head. This never occurred.