She slogged through each day, tripping over the pieces of her broken heart, scattered about every room, every open space, every corner of hidden darkness. She couldn’t turn away from the truth; she couldn’t run far enough. The fact is, he made his choice and it wasn’t her.
She sipped red wine after lunch and into the evening, an escape that was temporary at best. She wrote, dribblings of emotions, tangential arrangements of the discourse she felt. She sought further refuse in her drink. It did not come.
A friend’s words echoed through her mind, “Live your truth.”
Time forced itself upon her. Summer ended abruptly and autumn passed without her notice. As morning arrived on a snow-covered landscape she watched each uniquely beautiful swirling flake, realizing their very existence begins and ends with their fall. That was it – that was her truth – accepting the heartbreak, allowing herself to fall.
Without seeking it, without even a whisper of hope for it, another, the ‘one’ as it were, discovered the trail of her heart’s remnants and gathered them up in his pocket. His careful hands crafted each piece one back to the other, sealing the frayed edges with his love. With boldness, he presented his offering to her – she accepted, now restored.