When you drop a glass or a plate to the ground it makes a loud crashing sound. When a window shatters, a table leg breaks, or when a picture falls off the wall it makes a noise. But as for your heart, when that breaks it’s completely silent. You would think as it’s so important it would make the loudest noise in the whole world, or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell. But it’s silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain.

If there is a noise, it’s internal. It screams and no-one can hear it but you. It screams so loud that your ears ring and you head aches. It thrashes around in your chest like a great white shark caught in the sea; it roars like a mother bear whose cub has been taken. That’s what it looks like and that’s what it sounds like; a thrashing, panicking great big beast, roaring like a prisoner to its own emotions. Butt hat’s the thing about love – no-one is untouchable. It’s as wild s that, or as raw as an open flesh wound exposed to salty sea water, but when it actually breaks, it’s silent. You’re just screaming on the inside and no-one can hear it.

Cecelia Ahern, Chapter 32, If You Could See Me Now