What hurts more: a broken heart or a dream crushed?
Part One
“Well, what kind of broken are we talking about?”
“I don’t understand.”
Sigh.
Pause and think.
“Well personally I don’t think hearts can be broken. They’re basically solid muscle. They’re tough.”
Itch.
Scratch the itch.
“They can be shredded though, like pork. Torn like a phone book.”
Wait.
“What?”
“By those giant muscle men. The ones that can stop a car with just their teeth.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, so…yeah, hearts can get all sorts of messed up. But not broken. They can’t be broken.”
“But why call it a broken heart then? Why not ‘ripped up torn up piece of crap’?”
“Euphemism.”
Such conviction.
Well,
“I think you’re wrong. I think a heart can be broken. Ground to dust and blown away.”
“The heart is a muscle, not some kind of fairy dust aerosol.”
“I think you don’t know what this conversation is about.”
“What? Seriously though, if your heart did that you’d probably be dead. No, you’d definitely be dead.”
“I’m talking about disappointment: the way a love gone sour feels, when somebody dies that you cared about. Something so awful that it breaks your heart like a floor breaks china.”
“I think gravity broke the china. I think physics and chemistry broke your mother’s china.”
“My mother?”
“What were you saying?”
Pinch.
Red flesh.
“I’m serious.”
“Whatever.”
Pause.
“So what do you think, really?”
“I really do think it’s impossible to break a heart. I mean, yeah it gets bruised, stepped on, spit on, squeezed, burned. Some of the damage lasts forever, makes it sick. But it keeps beating. Because it’s strong.”