Mending A Broken Heart.
Learning to heal a broken heart, a heart that feels like it has gone through war, been wounded to the point that it seems like a miracle it is still beating.But here it is, beating.
It is torn up and raged. It and the girl it lives in are weary and bruised, yet both somehow stronger than ever. This kind of heartbreak is relentless, the kind that stops you in your tracks. That upon the utterance of something inconceivable, he died; worlds fell apart, hearts sank and skipped beats, breaths were lost, days were lost, and we were lost, tears flowed, and rage express through screams of No No No.
This kind of broken heart is next level, it is the kind you don't even think is possible in real life. That you may only see in a movie, and as a witness shed some tears. Because even as fiction it is all to devastating, but then, then it is your life and you have no idea how you have even survived this for 8 months. How you have actually lived this, how your heart could even keep beating through it all. This really happened, this is not a movie, or a story about a friend of a friend of a friend.
I am the friend of a friend of a friend. How could my heart survive this?
But here it is, beating. Beating a little too fast as everything feels so intense. Life will never be the same, my heart will never be the same. And not, not the same, in the way no one is ever really the same day after day. No, this is in a way that will forever be traceable back to August 16th 2015 because on that day, part of me died. Part of me went with my beloved on his next journey and that part may always be empty.
That part of me will forever know Rene is missing, that part of me will feel the hurts of those around me like they were mine. My beaten beating heart will aches for others like only one who has inhabited this terror can.
In me will linger the residue of blood curdling pain. That feeling will never go away, that knowing will remain. Do I believe it will, overtime, take up less real estate in me and I will trip less and less? Yes, and that sliver of hope is what keeps me going. While the heart keeps beating the person can feel lifeless. It is all about the hope; that one day I won't cry, that one day evenings won't feel like nails on a chalkboard sound, that one day I will feel normal.
I press on my beating heart through my chest and its’ strength shocks me, maybe it isn’t the heart that needs mending after all. Maybe all the other shattered pieces need to heal around it's vibration.
An intertwined and connected pulse.