What a peculiar time–when your heart breaks–that is, extraordinary even. Such a state, the state of a shattered heart, a state where there exists little room for brevity in describing.

The wise words of my dear friend Aeschylus:

“Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.”

It’s an affliction of the heart, a afflication I presently bear.

I broke my heart; I have a broken heart; My heart is broken.

And, so, I write. I write to return fire against the pain. I write to recall, the boundless joy for which I was lucky to experience that has lead me to my current predicament.

It’s the latter, of which, I’d like to write mostly. This isn’t my first rodeo. No, indeed, the dark devil has come before, ravaging and pillaging, and leaving a heart in ruin. Oh, my does it hurt. The pain, unlike any other. A pain you feel from the tips of your toes, radiating up your spinn.

The pain? Where did it come from? How does this happen? Can’t breathe. Can’t sleep. Relentless, it is in it’s pursuit.

Though, I sit, now, writing these words, knowing, that I have found the broom, and picked up the million pieces of my heart before. Right now, it seems impossible that will happen, as it did then. While, the courage such a notion provides, lets dare to wonder why? Why is this pain, this pain?

To be continued….