I find myself sitting in Columbus Circle after a lovely evening at the ballet. A long time friend is with me and we are just talking about the evenings events. He is a photographer. We broach the subject about what our friends from our childhood are doing at this very moment. He says that a few he hasn’t seen in years but converse with on Facebook asks how can be work so closely with models and not be tempted. We finally begin to compare models with real life people in our lives and what makes them a perfect match for us. He reveals that life is good for him and he wants to settle down and have 3 more kids. We end up talking about the one’s that broke our hearts and if this contributes to our single-ness today.
The broken heart finds a way to mend itself and fly free and far away from the place where it was broken in the first place. Far away from the love that once constricted and bound it to a place. Where it is allowed to sway to inaudible music and giggle at the echo of mindless thoughts of happiness. While flying away from those restrictions, it’s able to celebrate freedom and reflect on the fragments of love that once surrounded it. In the graveyard of hurt, the numbing silence and eerie breezes lets the heart rest in peace to begin to heal. As the mind constructs fortifications against further hurt, the body raises a toast to life, experience and a sense of freedom. Life after Death is, in a way, a celebration of life.
Hurt makes us stronger it moves us in the direction were we belong and reveals who we really are. It motivates us to achieve or fail at a greater level than before. As we start a new chapter of life, after a strong mourning period, we emanate a sense of being into the the surviving relationships. Because that is what it is all about – battle the heartbreaks, the grief, the imperfections. Never be bereaved of your own identity, your own self, your existence.
‘I loved him,’ she says. ‘But I hated us.’