I once wrote a story about a store that sold hearts. If yours was faulty or broken or you just felt like a change you could go shopping for a new one. They fitted you with your chosen heart right then and there, opening you up on the shop floor.
My heart didn’t break from the impact of my relationship ending like I thought it would. Instead, I feel like I’m a walking radiograph, my heart exposed for all to see.
I don’t wish for a heart emporium or consignment store. I now know something else much better exists: the heart pot-luck. A gathering of people who put their hearts on the table, raise their glasses in gratitude to their suffering and in doing so, help each other heal.
The heart, I am learning, wants to be seen. Together we are illuminated.