Heartbreak

Heartbreak. It's a rough one. One of my closest friends is going through a break up. She thought they'd marry, it's that kind of break up. Admittedly, she's been living in limbo, waiting for The Ring, for months and, honestly, has been miserable not knowing, waiting, wondering.

Being miserable, however, before the break up, doesn't make it any easier when it happens. She's devastated and torn apart, convinced she won't survive this. One forgets that acute pain (thank god!) attached to breaking up with somebody. That feeling of not being able to breathe. Watching her, hearing her, I seem to absorb some of her pain, and am flung back to my own heartbreaks. I'm a bit of a sponge like that. This is not necessarily a good thing.

I figure, though, that maybe, if I can absorb just a little bit of it, I could make it easier for her. Obviously I know this isn't true, only time'll make it better. Ugh, horrid. It's always so hard in the acute stages to see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel and it's made worse by his behaviour now which, honestly, is just odd.

Best I away though, to take her out, feed her a delicious drink, and remind her (and me) there's lots out there still.

Jumping in, heart beating wildly

I had a friend at university who was scared of everything, from tasting anything she didn’t recognise to throwing herself into love and everything in-between. I often wonder now, where she is with that.

My mother forced taught us as children that we were never to turn our noses up at food, until we’d tasted it. I am eternally grateful to her for that and have tried to put that philosophy in place with everything I do – from food, to visiting places to reading books to falling in love, and by falling in love I mean not only with lovers, but friends, places, things, all of it.

I live in fear of not doing things and gaining no experience. This has, of course, at times put me in line for looking like a fool, for heartbreak, for silliness, but I figure it’s all been for a good cause. Where would I be if I hadn’t thrown myself into the midst of a Spanish protest or into the arms of an unsuitable suitor? Somewhere else, that’s where. Somewhere with fewer stories, fewer scars on my heart that make it beat more breathily and with more urgency.

Because, yes, for sure, my heart still breaks at the thought of some of those loves – my first, the one that was never resolved, the one that I never actually met but had a deeper connection with than I have ever experienced who turned out to be married, the years-ago one that could never be – they all add up into the life force that runs through me and makes me believe, completely, that the heart break is worth it. And that kissing a wizard in a dark night club and going to places that make the heart swell and driving out into the open spaces is what makes the world go around and the stories sprout. Each experience a beautiful, magical thing.

So here’s to remembering this and keeping on falling in love with people, places, the world. Here’s to jumping in, arms flailing, heart in your hands… into the free-fall of life.

TDoT(2): Something you love about yourself

My hands and my heart. The first literally, the second in the more metaphorical sense. I suppose that's obvious, though. It's not like I've ever really seen my heart, although I have seen others. I saw the first transplant hearts, both the one taken out and the one put in. They're in jars ar Heart Transplant Museum. I stray. I do, of course, appreciate my literal heart. It's done a damn fine job of pumping blood in and out and round about for over thirty five years, and for that I am grateful. Straying again.

My hands - I've always loved them. I was genetically blessed with long fingers and slender hands with fragile-looking skin and good nails. Oh, that sounds so braggy. This truthfulness thing is not so easy! People always commented that I should play the piano. I never did. I played the recorder, attempted guitar and used my long fingers to grab onto the things I held dear, caress the ones I love and hold open books I read.

My heart - well, it sometimes makes life very difficult for me, screwing itself into a little damp ball of sheer sadness but, in the main, it fills up with happiness and beauty and love and makes me smile and I love that it does that. It makes me play The Smiling Game which I do often, much to the embarrassment of friends. The Smiling Game entails me grinning (maniacally?) at everybody we drive past in the car. It's fabulous and is, mostly, greeted with similiar smiles from strangers in other cars.

My heart also allows me to love with an intensity that sometimes I fear will make me spontaneously combust. In a good way though. It has caused heartbreak too but I wouldn't change its propensity for love one iota. That kind of thing, those emotions that my heart allows, that's what makes me love it.

Unattached in a terrarium

Sometimes I just feel like I’m looking at the world from inside an aquarium, but without the water. So maybe it’s a terrarium. That is the one with the lizards and chameleons in it, isn’t it? I digress. I’m looking out, feeling a little sad, but not knowing why exactly. It’s just like there are thin threads of heartbrokenness swirling up my nostrils and down my throat with every breath I take, and I feel detached. Even the sounds I hear seem muffled.

They cleaned our windows today in The Ivory Tower at Real Work. It’s been a year, and the acid rain had deposited a layer of dust so thick on the outside that, after they were cleaned, my colleague exclaimed: “I can see cars!” She overlooks a four-lane highway. We are blessed with huge, 8 x 6 pane windows that stretch up two metres, so cleaning them changes the light completely. It’s suddenly crystallised.

Oh, you see? I’m making no sense, I can tell, but I’m too far detached from earth to be able to do anything about it. I’m sure the clean windows are explaining my terrarium feelings, but the sad detachment? Where’d that come from?

A little love story

I wish to hold it, gently in my hands, life throbbing through it. I will cover it carefully, inch-by-inch, with a layer of tiny kisses. The ones that make a little sound – not a ‘smack’ or a ‘mwah’, more like a little, crystal click. Lots of them. I will take care not to leave any part unkissed. A layer of luminous love.

Then I will wrap it in silvery spider web thread, so delicate that you almost can’t feel it’s there, except that it keeps it warm, and safe. Around and around I will wrap it, sealing in those kisses with its shimmer, no gaps that will let any cold breeze in.

And then, puffy cottonwool made from pure cotton that I will collect directly from the cotton plants and manipulate until it is so soft it feels like warm breath. A big layer of that, to keep it safe. And another layer of kisses to seal it all in. Then I’ll tuck it in, close to mine, so that they can feel each other beating, and be comforted.

Because that’s what your heart deserves.