heart break "Woman with long hair covered with a blue blindfold in Scarborough" by Oscar Keys

A variation of this sentence has been on my mind the whole day: Surely, There Have to Be Worse Things Than Getting Your Heart Broken into a Thousand Pieces.

I’m a writer, outside events and internal turmoil directly affect my work. Everything that happens to me, good or bad, or good and bad simultaneously, can be written on a piece of paper, or typed into a blank screen, then edited ruthlessly enough for me and the editor of a publication to deem it worthy of others’ time and attention.

As things happen to me, or around me, I try to think of the right combination of words, of the sentence structures that will correctly convey what’s happening, what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking, my truth.

When people tell me they’ve felt that way too after reading something I’ve written, that something extremely resonated with them, it just reaffirms my belief that my feelings, situations, acquired knowledge aren’t just mine anymore, I don’t claim full ownership over them.

[From the future: The Reason Most Artists Will Never Share Their Talent With the World (And Why They’ll Be in Their Deathbed, Dreading All the Art They Didn’t Create)]

Sometimes I focus so much on finding the right words that make my truth your own, that I fear I won’t be able to fully experience anything ever again.

That sounds sad, but I’m just grateful I get to speak my mind and make others feel something, like I’m grateful for all the writers and creators who give me “The Feelz”, whose work has brought so much to my life.

Strangely, knowing we share the same struggles, insecurities, and fears, makes us much stronger.

Surely, there have to be worse things than getting your heart broken into a thousand pieces.

There’s famine, war, disease. Some people don’t have a place to stay at night, no guarantee they’ll live through the hard times another day. Some people are abused, raped, killed. Stillborn babies. There’s so much injustice to break your heart on a daily basis. My friend’s father passed, a few days later, his partner was diagnosed with cancer.

“The essence of anything is shaped by the feeling it evokes.”

Damn these walls.

I think, surely, logically, irrevocably, unquestionably, there have to be worse things than getting your heart broken. In a thousand pieces. Again.

Yet, at least now, I can’t come up with a satisfying answer as to what those things are.

Yesterday it rained and rained; today, sunshine and clear skies. Yes, still comparing weather conditions to my heart.

Still reminiscing over one of my learnt-the-hard(est)-way, all-time favorite lessons: knowing even though it’s not all fine now, all will be fine soon.

I taste my coffee, it’s strong and smooth.

Like our hearts.

Like us.


Disclaimer: This was written some time ago, my heart’s no longer broken. 

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