“It is better for the heart to break, than not to break.”
― Mary Oliver
I buried a scream once, behind my brave face, but there is always a reckoning, a sliding out of unbearable pain, like a dark thing that ambushes me when I least expect it.
It comes quickly with full force and drenches me to the bone in sadness, the ache is like a thunder-clap to my chest, my throat becomes clogged and choked in despair.
This monster entangles me in self-pity, it is a living thing, it worms its way into my flesh, crawling over my skin, burning me alive, tormenting me. For a time I am lost to its will.
I sink into the graphic rawness of grief, no longer able to float above the heartbreak. I’m weighed down, leaden and gloomy.
A force greater than me allows this hurt to burst its banks, enabling my broken-heart to be exsanguinated…
I’m learning that it’s best to let it run its course, until I am rescued again by butterflies…