"Be brave enough to break your own heart."
These are the words of the advice columnist Sugar (known in her everyday life as Ms. Cheryl Strayed). These are the words that have been on repeat in my fuzzy brain for the past 1 hour and 47 minutes and probably 36 seconds. These are the words that I must meditate on for a bit longer. Maybe another hour and 47 minutes longer? Or longer? Or shorter? Or who's got a stopwatch? Throw that piece of plastic away.
I want to reach that place where I am willing and perhaps even eager to break my own sweet sensitive defiantly beating heart. I let others break -- no, shatter -- it regularly without even putting up a fight. Why? Do I feel like I deserve it? Do I view this destruction as a sort of penance? What will it take for me to exercise my vocal cords and finally speak up? (Side note: Vocal cords resemble vaginas. I just googled it. Look for yourself. Marvel in the beauty!)
I am headed somewhere solely designed for me. My bones will settle this territory, my marrow will map the land. I will take your forehead into my small hands and kiss it for, no, not you, but for me.
I am about to annihilate my heart and it shall be sublime.