Writing through the feelings

Life feels more full with a cracked heart;

the light comes in easier, a smile from a stranger means more, time moves slower, and there is more to notice. Our eyes attune to anything that could possibly mean something- and to our luck, so much does. How the steam connects us to our coffee, the pace that the leaves fall, the amount of steps between cracks on a sidewalk. A heart cracked is a heart opened; and to be human is to hold this courageously.

There have been times where I could not help but pry at the cracks. With no self control and a dangerous curiosity I would rip my heart open until each beat felt as though it was under the weight of one thousand pounds. Then the smiles of strangers were a mockery to my misery, the coffee was getting cold, and fuck I just broke my mother’s back. Meaning loses its meaning when we are committed to misunderstanding it.

Our hearts are meant to crack! They are meant to bend and shape and break and mend. A cracked heart is not a malfunction of the human condition; though we need to know where we end and the pain begins.

I learned early on that there is always something to be broken by. A flexible heart softens much of the blow. A heart that is allowed to crack, and stay cracked, without self imposed destruction saves damage control for when the heart needs to break.

So allow the cracks to provide the medicine of gentle noticining, stillness, and patience. Notice the harmony around you and know you are a part of it- an observer is beauty’s greatest gift.