When your heart breaks...

So there is this novel I read the other day, called 'If I could see you now' by Cecelia Ahern. Delightful novel, about children who see characters, characters who are not visible! So you might want to ask what is delightful about that, after all it should rather be a case for psychiatry, should it not?

May be, but why would a child want to create a character unless he wants company; unless she is being neglected; unless they are being abused. In most cases, I have read that these characters do disappear after a period of time, perhaps when the child has no more need of support or help; perhaps when a child gets bogged down by all that homework and all those tests; perhaps when children have no option other than to grow up. Is that why do we have so many depressed individuals? Well I am going off on a tangent here.

What I actually wanted to write about was this beautiful passage I read in this book, which I am posting below. It is about what happens when your heart breaks. When I read through this passage, I was speechless for the longest time, even thoughtless I can say.

Who has not gone through a heart break for one reason or another?

Who has not felt the need to scream, to shout, to hit and destroy; who has not felt the need to bang a door, run away, or break something?

Who has not felt the need to curse at the Gods, to cry hot tears till you run them out, to keep a brave smile when your tears want to escape and your eyes start burning?

Somewhere amidst this, a tiny organ called the heart is hurting, wanting to scream out. Yes the doctors tell you it is an organ with chambers and valves, a mechanical device that pumps blood day in and day out till the day you die. It is only your mind that plays these tricks. Somehow I am not convinced, especially after reading this paragraph:

When you drop a glass or a plate to the ground it makes a loud crashing sound. When a window shatters, a table leg breaks, or a picture falls off the wall, it makes a noise. But as for your heart, when that breaks, it’s completely silent. You would think as it’s so important it would make the loudest noise in the whole world or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell.

But it’s silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain. If there is a noise, it’s internal. It screams and no one can hear it but you. It screams so loudly your ears ring and your head aches. It thrashes around in your chest like a great white caught in the sea, it roars like a mother bear whose cub has been taken. That’s what it looks like and that’s what it sounds like, a thrashing, panicking, trapped, great big beast, roaring like a prisoner to its own emotions.

But that’s the thing about love; no one is untouchable. It’s as wild as that, as raw as an open flesh wound exposed to salty sea water, but when it actually breaks, it’s silent, you’re just screaming on the inside and no one can hear it.