In short, I've gone out and had my heart broken again. As always, I had hoped that the last time would be the last time and that THIS time I would get it right.
I was wrong.
It's possible that the door was left cracked open. Time will tell about that. There was no drama, no burned bridges. There is no hate or anger.
That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt.
As I told my mother, this isn't the first time I've been through this (as always, I hope it's the last). I know that I will hurt physically for a little while. (Funny how a broken heart actually feels like your heart is breaking. The nausea is new). I know that I will have to force myself to eat for a couple of weeks. I know the weepies will sneak up on me and that I will have to fight them away while I maintain the facade that I am happy and joyful and that the world is my oyster.
I don't actually like oysters. Well, the critter itself is just fine and I really like the way that they take something irritating and hurtful and turn it into something beautiful. But they taste terrible. And they are filter feeders. Gross. And well, we've already discovered that I don't make pearls, I make... eew, I'm not talking about that.
And that is the state of things right now.