I think a broken heart is the most painful status of being there is. Cause that's the deal... it is a state of being. It happens, like it does, horrifically, suddenly, and then there you are: heartbroken. Sitting, staring, crying, snoting, blaming, whining and begging. Oh god, it is so unpretty.
I love that almost every human on the planet can relate to a broken heart... I love that when I walk in the door with snot on my face and eyes the color of jupiter I can quickly explain away their horror by admitting my status of being: broken hearted. It is almost like declaring oneself a writer or a musician as a way to stave off the would-be hygeine critics and career police. My broken heart is my clearance to look an absolute mess... though, instead, I frequently try to look my best. At least that's the advice my grandma always gave when a boy didn't want to love me anymore... she said there ain't no use in crying, you just go put on your best silk blouse and call it life.
But the truth is, even though I don't like to call my granny a liar, there is nothing I can do to make this pain go away. No silk blouse of any color is gonna fade the feel of his arms on my skin, no one's opinion of what should've or would've is going to rewrite this story. I don't really know what heals the heart which has been broken, but I'm certainly waiting on its magic.