It Pumps the Blood

Right now I'm thinking about fragility--or perhaps just the state of being delicate. And I'm thinking about hearts and relationships. That may sound cheesy, but it is true (moan and roll your eyes if you must). Do you ever get to be "good" at relationships? Relationships seem to require vulnerability (formerly a four-letter-word in my mind--I'm working my way out of that one). Because if vulnerability is lacking, so too is authenticity, it seems. Sometimes I feel like I'm standing on a sheet of glass, covered in sand and the sand moves and makes me slide around and I'm always trying to keep my upright stance. But I'm wondering if I try too hard, if I'll just break through and land on my back with a shatter. Sometimes I feel older than Methuselah and as hard as quarry stone.

Hearts break all the time. They are sometimes so easily broken and yet so hard to fix. Sometimes it's the other way around, but not often. We break each other's hearts and we break our own hearts. I can look at specific experiences and specific times when I was breaking my heart. And now I can't believe I did it, that I put myself through it. I think we break other people's hearts on a regular basis. And it's generally not intentional. It's the words we don't say, the looks we give, the ways we act and live without thinking about how it might effect someone else. We do it with impatience and a lack of kindness.

What does "broken" mean anyway? In my mind I think of something that used to work, but doesn't anymore. It used to have a function and a purpose, until now. I think of something that used to look differently or act differently. I think of something with obsolete pieces or pieces that are missing altogether. I think of something being clumsily mended with masking tape. I think of something that is tossed out--no long wanted or needed. I think of something that was whole once and wants to be whole again.

So, what does this say about "broken hearts"?