No words can know how a broken-open heart feels.
When my heart first broke, it felt as if something reached into my chest and tore my heart apart. Then, when I realized my heart was not broken, but breaking-open, I could feel a bit of light peeking in. Just a bit. Slowly, very slowly, the light began to grow around and through the scarred tissue that had wrapped its way around my heart. And as the light grew, the scars softened and the tissue that is my heart began to return to a pinkness I once knew, but only vaguely remembered in the cells.
::
The Heart knows.
It remembers.
It longs to break open.
Grief knows this.
It is intelligent.
It will lead you home.
::
I don’t say this lightly, or flippantly. I know grief, well. I know joy, well. They are close cousins.
