Solid things break when enough pressure is applied.
Everyone has a part of them that’s hanging on by a thread – vulnerable, scared, weak, paralyzed by anger or depression or loss, loss, loss. Loss of love or health or control. We feel around for something to help us get through, pushed to the crumbling edge of desperation, groping in the darkness for anything to help us make it. Then, when the outward things have run their course, we turn inward and throw up our hands. We stop trying and leave it be. We fall silent with nothing more to say. We submit to grief, and all things painful. It digests us, and we come out the other side damaged goods. Sometimes we do not ever come out the other side, at least not in this lifetime, this world. Sometimes we get lost in the dark. If we’re lucky we might find the light again, or find something to help light the way. A heart must learn love to find peace, I think, but love can be a difficult lesson.
Broken things can often be mended.