Heart Brake

I want to obtain a brake for my heart because truly, it needs to be stopped. An emergency brake will do, but make sure the brake pads are new and robust because I am going too fast. My heart is like a downhill skier, pointed straight at the finish line, before even beginning the race. It is a speeding race car on an oily track, going too fast for the upcoming hairpin turn.

“Rein it in!” I always say. “I have no problem with that! Nor have I ever!”

But the heart goes its way. Often, the heart is stupid. To wit, it fell for lovely, pretty things when I was much younger. Then when it was hurt too often, well, that’s when I built the bubble. It’s a solid, plexiglass, superhero-worthy encasement, so that my heart would never be hurt and always be safe. Then my young child died while I held her hand. She was hit by a car that didn’t brake, driving in reverse, out of control, on the sidewalk. This really happened. And I’ve been trying to write a book about it, but it’s too painful. Funny though, I always make the time for funner projects. But I am going to get it done. So I’m trying it out now. To write about it. Here.

This impenetrable bubble around my heart was a good, good thing for me to have created. No doubt. But a heart brake would be better now. It needs friction and squeezing, and not to be isolated and untouched as it is. Because it’s pissed off. At everything.

So just stop it. Stop all. Brake it. Break all. Cease all caring, because, well, why, really, in the long run? Not to sound unfeeling, but why the hell would anyone open-up themself again? After that? Why? What if something else like that happened? How idiotic would I be then?

I‘d gladly accept a brake for my heart because it doesn't need to go anywhere anymore.

I’ve fared well since then. I’m angry. But I love. I have more children now.

I try not to show what I know. That heartbreak could be around any corner.

”Don’t live in fear, my precious children!” I say. “That’s the worst thing you could do!” So I live fear-free and fearless. Because it should have been me that was taken, not her.

Obviously.

So brake your heart if you must.

There‘s no shame in it.

No shame in being cautious.