I certainly don’t remember submitting a request order for heartache. I’m convinced that had I requested such a thing I would definitely remember it … and probably be due for my next dose of medication … but surely remember it. Yet, here it is, in all its blustering, suffocating hugeness … sucking the air from my lungs, the color from my life, the warmth from even the sun.
Clearly this is a free gift bestowed by a humorless god in need of entertainment for his dreary life on Mt Olympus or in Asgard or wherever deities with too much time on their hands reside. Perhaps there was fine print there in the contract, disregarded in the eagerness and joy of surrender, overlooked by a heart already captured by joy … a heart that would have scoffed at the warning, no matter how large the print.
Broken hearts … those are doable … it’s the broken dreams that humble you.