The heart was made to be broken
There are reasons why your heart cracks, and why your honestly has cringed voicelessly down your throat.
There are reasons why your blood stained lips gaped wide open, moaning and screaming for the aching pain that lives within your bones as salty tears course down your cheeks.
There are reasons why the shrapnels from your past unforgotten make their comeback and with blades in their hands they cut into your flesh. And why certain wounds have never turned into prominent raised tissues like scars.
Why your heart is bitter even your lover has call it sweet.
Why your tears taste like oxygenated salt water, when you felt so dead inside.
Why your green veins pulsing steady according to the sacred cadence of your heartbeats.
Why the intervals of your heartbeats laid a monster who feeds upon hurtful moments and darkness.
Why lust overtook your mind when your soul is seeking refuge in a palace of love.
We can’t be ascertained if the wounds will leave eventually in this lifetime at least or if they will proceed and continue to plague out bones, out battered souls and torn up being to the core. Or if the cracks will come to a closure someday.
But sometimes, those reasons might just live anonymously within you. Because it could just be those simply are a gesture of your heart seeking for amplified love, from yourself. And maybe you should be broken, cracked and damage beyond repair so that you can make a comeback into this celestial moment, with a different arrangement of those pieces that makes you , yours.
Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could. -Louise Erdrich (The Painted Drum)
Many Love and Light