There was a story long in the making, slow in the writing that both Eric and Kelly had been working on. Thing is, neither of them knew the other was writing it.
Time, distance, experience and a leaking toilet come together to finally tell the story that both of them so wished would be told.
Written by Rebecca Milton
Published by AmorBooks
I have been trying to write this story for a long time now. As long as I can recall, I have wanted to write the story of a brokenhearted man. A man who wanders through life, bumping into others and finding his way, losing it again and how his broken heart moves him from one place to another. Searching, longing, reaching, trying. I realized today that the reason I have trouble writing that story is because I envy the brokenhearted man. I admire the brokenhearted man. I wish to God above that I was the brokenhearted man. I am not. And that realization is killing me.
There is an ease to the brokenhearted man because he is broken and when something is broken, it can be mended. In some way. I know, at first, the break seems impossible and that there never will be a whole heart where the broken one now resides. Truly, perhaps it won’t be exactly the same when the broken part is fixed, healed, but it will be repaired, and the brokenhearted man can move on, move forward and start something new. Be done.That is envious. That is admirable. Hell, that causes me great jealousy at times. Rainy days in unfamiliar cities when only one voice can bring you out of the funk.
Days when you have a cold and want to call someone and say, “I don’t feel well,” and they come home, bring soup, rub your back and stay there until you fall asleep. Then, without worry, or wonder or fear, you fall into that safe, lovely sleep because you know when you awake they will be there in the morning with coffee and love. The break in the heart is tended to, examined, slowly but surely, healed and the brokenhearted man is not broken any longer.
If the brokenhearted man is lucky, as most are, the healed heart is healed so well by loving hands and cherished thoughts and memories made that, when examined closely, he cannot even see where the break is any longer. It’s like wandering through a city he once lived in…
