It’s paradoxical really, how fragile we are. Physically we stumble, fall and get scarred. Scars sting for a while, then they scab over, and before you know it, all you have left is a faint phantom pain whenever you gaze at a scar, a memory of what was. For all the talk you’ll find in philosophical and religious texts of how the spirit is strong but the flesh is weak, in some sort of divinely arranged comedy , the hardest scars to heal are not on the body, but invisible ones on this annoying little ball of muscle we call a heart.

Hollow, that’s the only word you can use to describe the feeling of a hurt heart. It’s as if a vital part of you is violently ripped away, except even with an arm the pain goes away after a while, but with hearts, well the little asshole appendages can keep grudges longer than my grandmother’s cat. Heartache comes from anywhere and everywhere, from loss, from gain, from your friend, from your pet puppy, hearts you see, the annoying little shits, don’t discriminate.

Kudos to everyone who is dealing with that horrible feeling in their chests, the emptiness, the painful nothingness. Even I can’t find words to trivialize it, like I usually do, to make it more palatable, less of a lump in your throat and something more bite sized. Even Wit (and I’m quite proud of mine) can’t make this any better than it is. Different names for myriad forms, grief, anxiety, and dread, but they’re all just different tentacles of the same abysmal monster. The beauty of words written, is the ability to cross time and space, to convey feeling and to be seen and felt. I see you, and I celebrate you. Nightmares don’t last forever.


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