It seems odd, but this is the first time it’s happened here in Casa de Dude. We’ve got a broken heart.
Sarcasmo recently went through an odd little break up. To most people, I’m sure, it wouldn’t mean all that much. But it meant the world to him.
He came to me for advice. He didn’t know what to do because it hurt so bad.
And all I had left to give him were clichés.
You’ll get better in time.
The joys of trying for love outweigh the sadness losing it.
There are others out there for you.
“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” said J.
“Try it,” K growled.
Even as the words left my mouth, I could feel the inadequacy of them. It’s not just inadequate to this situation, but to most situations that deal with a broken heart. When you’re heart’s in a million pieces on the ground, everything is inadequate. Nothing can heal the pain. Nothing can make a difference.
The words we say are nothing but noise. The hugs we give are nothing but constrictions. The smiles, merely more teeth showing. The tears we shed are arid counterpoint to the ocean of sadness inside. And the prose we right, not nearly purple enough to cover the depth of our damage.
And then, one day, you find that you’re healed. The thought of the dudettes name doesn’t leave you feeling like you’ve just tried to kiss an angry hedgehog. Seeing the dude’s face across the room, doesn’t make you want to run the other way at speed.
And you’re amazed that you ever actually cared enough to worry about losing that twit.
When your heart is fresh broken, you know it will never heal. When it’s healed, you know it’s hardened enough so that it will never break again. Until the next time.
But that’s something you don’t want to hear about right now.