This is not a place of healing- I have to be honest with my guests. I offer them no remedy to cure their heartache, nor remove the scars they have. Just a place to tell their story, just a place to get some air.
Auburn hair, hazel eyes, an air of sophistication followed her about. She sat in the café for long hours in the afternoons. Smoking her cigarette, sipping her latte, listening to the band play. Sometimes looking deep into an unseen reality unfolding before her eyes, occasionally chatting with a stranger who asked to share her table. She asked me to sit with her one day.
“I saw the questions in your eyes,” she smiled. I fiddled in my seat embarrassed, as my eyes stayed on the wedding band round her finger. I noticed it when she first checked in during the fall of 99, and every time she came round subsequently. She had made many trips here - some trips longer than the rest, sometimes just dropping in for a cuppa.
“Do you know how many times your heart can get broken?” She broke into my recollections. “It seems that no matter how small a piece you have left from the last time it broke, it can shatter some more. Each time the pain is fresh and you don think you can survive another ounce of ache, but you do. It’s such a cruel exercise- you preserve your heart to keep yourself alive, but as it barely learns how to breathe, he breaks it again. He does not know how painful it is, he isn’t even aware how much I cry, he does not even know how much it takes me to hope again, he does not even know that I know..”
***
A loves B and only B, but B loves not only A. Sometimes another lover, sometimes just a fling. But if you love him, here’s the place to mend your heart each time it’s torn apart. Check in here if you want to be able to survive in this waiting game. Get some air, and return to wait again.
***
side note: yay! the small font is working again!
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