Boy oh boy, guys. I just felt the urge to go all moody, lyrical, and poem-ish… I don’t typically write moody, lyrical, poem-ish things. And even when I do, I very rarely feel compelled to show them to anyone else. (And that’s for the best. Is anything we do after 12:30 a.m. typically worth showing to anyone else?)
But tonight I got myself into this writey mood. And that got me to a whole lot of scribbling about what it means to be heartbroken. (Because what else do you do after midnight on a Wednesday?)
AND HERE’S THE THING. I wasn’t even feeling bad. Just feeling inspired. So I’m forcing the results on you, dear sweet readers. (Not forcing. You still have time to escape. Do something else. Go play frisbee. Make some pudding. Finally tackle those dishes. Or stick around and read it. It’s short.)
What does it mean to be heartbroken?
It means every cliché makes total sense. is true. but really this time.
Like the rug is pulled out from under you. And so is the floor.
But it would have been better, actually, never to have loved at all.
Still, you hold on to hope like it’s the last ticket to dear life — only you know the train left a long time ago.
Your mind races. Runs laps around memories. Trying to chase down the very good reasons. Because you still believe there’s a finish line.
And a place on the other side, where hope is still a thing you can grip.
And trains come back to the station eventually.
The floor is still there. And the rug. And you stand on them both, side-by-side.
Knowing for sure it was better to have loved.