I don’t know if I have made a habit of penning my heart, but I find that I wear my heart on a sleeve. I am every bit my mother’s child.
Today was a beautiful day, it rained and it made me happy. But today also made me sad, extremely sad. Not for anything beyond the heart. What breaks a heart? I will tell you.
I have had my heart broken at the aspect of losing time, time to find a consistent and steady love. I have had my heart break at the sound of music that reminds me of bonds forged with time. I have had my heart break at the idea of almost, of beautiful stories that could have been made.
Words fail me but I am speaking of what breaks my fragile heart so easily. I think I break my own heart from time to time. If not most of the time, If Benjamin Zulu was in Uganda, he would call me out of self-sabotage and my people pleasing ways. But he doesn’t have to come by, I know so. And I am working on myself to either learn how to deal with my flaws or accept them. In every way, something gotta give!
I am scared to end up alone but I am more afraid of ending up in the wrong arms. And this fear has exposed me to all kinds of men, I am at the end of vetting a good man, but a man in a different season of life than I am. And that broke my heart… in many ways, I broke my own heart but also saved it. An oxymoron!
Maybe I will get it right someday not today. Or maybe I might never get it right. But I am sure of the fact that, if it causes me confusion, second guessing and unease—it probably is going to cost me a lot.
This breaks my heart, but a good man in a wrong season is still the wrong man. Yikes! Tonight I write, tomorrow…I will wake up to raise hope yet again. I will live through a new day, breathe...excel and yet again, look beyond the horizon and dream another dream.
It was almost everything, but I also know it was covered in extreme hints from me, dipped in extreme need to get it right and if I have mastered anything, I have mastered breaking at almosts, a cycle that most probably won't end, if I keep believing in people's potential.
I could write on...but I need a cup of hot chocolate and it is past midnight.
