How I Broke My Heart

How I Broke My Heart by Berni Sarazine

     It is just another one of those days. From the moment I feel conscious, nothing seems to go the way it should. I have just finished a shopping and errand marathon filled with more roadblocks than I-94 on a steamy, July rush hour. Juggling my morning purchases, I somehow manage to unlock my front door, stumble toward the counter, and relieve my arms of their burden as a resounding crash greets my ears. I look down at the linoleum and there, in a million pieces, it lays. This is how I broke my heart.

     For a moment, I am in a state of deep shock. The room seems to be spinning, and I feel as if I am being sucked into a hole in the middle of the floor. Grabbing the counter, I steady myself and take a few deep breaths. “How could I have let this happen?” I think to myself. “I tried to be so careful this time.” With resignation, I grab the broom and dustpan and sweep up the mess I’ve made. The broken pieces of my heart make an all too familiar sound as I gather them together with the broom. Sadness envelopes me as I dump the contents of the dustpan into the garbage can.

     I sit down in a chair and begin to cry. I cry for the effort I put into this last relationship. I cry for the sweet memories I have of the two of us together, knowing there will be no more added to savor. I cry for the terrible things we said to each other as we went our separate ways. I cry for all of my failed relationships of the past. I cry for the likely possibility of failed relationships of the future. I cry because I like to cry.

    I taste the salt of my tears as it reaches my lips. I grab a tissue and find comfort in the in the familiar scent. I hear my heart beating, as if it is saying “Please, don’t give up on me yet.” Slowly, I come to my senses and a calmness settles over me. I reach into the garbage can and pull out the pieces of my heart and begin gluing them back together for another day.